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Town and Country Library 


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)ust and Laurels 

A Study in 

Nineteenth Century Womanhood 


By MARY L. PENDERED 



D. APPLETON & CO., NEW YORK 


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-'"V 


DUST AND LAURELS 








« 


■ r\ 


SOME PRESS OPINIONS. 


“ Though Miss Pendered's name is unknown to us, we 
can hardly imagine her to be a novice to novel writing, 
when she shows such rare choice of incident and charac- 
ter as she does iu ‘ Dust and Laurels. 1 "—Athenaeum. 

“ We unhesitatingly commend it to the discerning.” 
— Yorks Post. 

“ Exceedingly clever and readable.” — Vanity Fair. 

“An exceedingly clever character-sketch — everything 
by turns and nothing long. She poses and despises her- 
self for posing, flirts and abhors herself, uses her liberty 
and abuses it, and exposes herself to being taken for 
even worse than she is. This study stands out from the 
usual portraits of such types, through its clever indica- 
tion of the effects of the limits of nineteenth century civi- 
lization upon such unrestrained natures.” — Spectator. 

“ Miss Pendered’s study of both women strikes us as 
eminently truthful.” — Daily Chronicle. 

“All through its pages the interest never for a mo- 
ment flags ; every turn brings fresh developments, till we 
seem to live at the same feverish pitch as Vera herself.” 
— Scottish Leader. 

" There is niuoh that is natural— very muofa mat has 
been observed with almost microscopic accuracy. In- 
teresting and full of action.” — Manchester Courier. 


New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. 








t 


DUST AND LAURELS 


A STUDY IN 

NINETEENTH CENTURY WOMANHOOD 


BY 


MARY L. PENDERED 

4* 


“ Have the high gods anything left to give, 
Save dust and laurels and gold and sand ? 

Swinburne 



NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
1894 




Copyright, 1894, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


486555 

JUL 17 1942 


A 

4 





TO THAT HYBRID COMPLICATION, 

THE WOMAN OF TO-DAY, 

WHOSE FOOD 

► 

IS FRUIT OF THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE OF GOOD AND EVIL, 

AND WHOSE DRINK 

IS THE INTOXICATING ETHER OF FREEDOM AND INDEPENDENCE, 
THIS LITTLE STUDY IS DEDICATED, WITH BEST WISHES, 


BY THE AUTHOR. 


“ Treat the woman tenderly, tenderly, 

Out of a crooked rib God made her slenderly, slenderly, 
Straight and strong He did not make her, 

So, if you try to bend, you’ll break her.” 


Old Rhyme. 


NOTE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 


When the Messrs. Appleton made me an 
offer to publish my little study, “ Bust and 
Laurels ,” in the United States, I experienced 
a keen sense of satisfaction. I said to myself, 
“Now my Veronica will have a chance.” 
Nearly every English reviewer of “ Bust and 
Laurels ” flattered me and abused my heroine. 
I do not wish to defend her peccadilloes, or 
register her as a “model of all the virtues”; 
but there are a few words I want to say on 
her behalf to my American readers. 

In the first place, I should like to guard 
against a recurrence of an erroneous impres- 
sion obtaining here that Veronica is intended 
as a type of nineteenth- century womanhood. 
She is a study in nineteenth century woman- 
hood, and surely the difference is obvious. I 
deny that I have wronged my sex in laying 

(vii) 


viii NOTE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 

bare its weaknesses, and at the same time 
maintain that Veronica is not a monster. In 
my opinion, the best kind of optimism is that 
expressed in the old Greek hymn to Zeus : 
“ Thou dost so harmonise into one all good and 
evil things that there should be one everlast- 
ing reason of them all.” And the “ realism ” of 
“ Dust and Laurels” is but a protest against 
our weak dread of seeing things as they are, 
instead of as we try to think we should like 
them to be. In an old country a light habit 
of thought clings till the mind is moulded by 
it, and we have made such a fashion of ideal- 
ism that it becomes sometimes necessary to 
remind ourselves that men and women are not 
roses and lilies. 


Mary L. Pendered. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ Men and women are only half human. Every animal of 
the barnyard, the field and the forest, of the earth, and the 
waters that are under the earth, has contrived to get a footing, 
and to leave the print of its features and form in some one or 
other of these upright, heaven-facing speakers.” — Emerson. 

“ It is certainly appalling ! ” 

There had been a long silence before this 
sentence, and the mind of the listener had 
drifted from the previous subject, as minds 
of listeners will, so she asked vaguely — 

“Yes? What is appalling? you mean”— 
“ I mean this masterful power of touch that 
unstrings all your resolutions and paralyses 
your intentions. The mere contact of a hand 
may send a darting fire up all your arteries, 
and seem to change your whole nature, just 
when you feel strongest. Can you understand 
this ? ” 


(i) 


2 


DUST AND LAUEELS. 


“I think, so. The hand of some one you 
love ? ” 

“ Oh, that is not what I mean at all ! Take 
love out of consideration altogether. Love is 
all fire and thrill, bracing you to noble en- 
thusiasms and self-sacrificing ideals. I mean 
— but I don’t believe you can possibly under- 
stand,” — lowering her voice, — “I mean some- 
thing on a widely different plane ; something 
you hate and loathe yourself for; something 
belonging to the masculinity of a man that 
drives back the part you call your soul, and 
makes you forget there is divinity in you. 
You are only conscious of sensation, and 
scarcely of that. It is brutal ! ” she broke off 
abruptly. 

“I don’t think I do understand,” said the 
other slowly. “I don’t know the feeling. 
You seem to be differently made from me, 
Yera : I often think so.” 

“ Differently trained, you mean. Have 
you never heard of atrophy from disuse, 
Sylvia? You have never in your life, I sup- 
pose, played with your emotions and analysed 
them. At the first indication of such a sensa- 
tion as I describe, your whole training would 
have caused you to revolt, and you would 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


3 


never run into risk again. Now, had you 
been, as I was, fed on romances from your 
cradle ; then, before your petticoats were long, 
thrown into the society of vapid, weak, and 
frivolous companions, whose general conver- 
sation hinged .upon bread and ale and kisses — 
would you have been the calm, innocent, 
equable-minded daisy you are? Not likely! 
Depend upon it, Sylvia, it is the teen stage 
of a girl’s life that determines her future of 
good or evil. I can no more throw off the 
effects of the influences that surrounded me 
at sixteen than I can throw off my skin ! 
They are fibred right into my system, so 
much so that if a man makes love to me 
whom I despise, when I want to be angry I 
laugh ! I mislead others and don’t know 
myself — no — no more than I know what lies 
in my future.” 

At the end of this speech the talker, who 
had been pacing the room excitedly, threw 
herself into a lounging-chair by the window, 
near where her friend sat watching her, and 
clasped both hands above her head. 

She was a tall woman, on the kindest side 
of thirty, and most people considered her 
handsome. Just now she looked exceedingly 


4 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


so, for there was a feverish light in her long 
olive-tinted eyes which turned them unusually 
large under the straight black brows, and the 
red in her cheeks gave them a grey colour. 

Her eyes were always the strongest point 
in her face’s favour. You could never tell 
what colour they were going to appear next, 
and the darkness of the lashes generally cast 
an unfathomable shadow into them. 

Her hair was fair, — the sort of sandy fair- 
ness that often goes with black eyebrows, — 
but it was prettily shaded here and there in 
gold and bronze, and very conciliable. Her 
skin was good without being brilliant, and 
her features picturesque without being beau- 
tiful. In short, she was one of the thousands 
of women who depend upon moods and con- 
ditions for their good looks. She could be 
plain or pretty according to varying circum- 
stances. At present she was pretty. Her 
arms were bare, and very white, her thick 
hair loose, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes 
flashing. Sylvia thought how very beautiful 
she was in the subdued light of the bedroom, 
which was struggling with the moonlight from 
the window. But then she was an ardent 
devotee, pretty, gentle Sylvia, of this friend 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


5 


of hers, — so ardent as never to shrink from 
Yera when she was really exasperatingly un- 
conventional and terrible. It seemed terrible 
to Sylvia to hear Yera talk lightly of a flirta- 
tion such as the latter was indulging in now, 
and pity herself for being unable to resist it. 
She could not comprehend such a thing. No 
man would ever have been able to flirt with 
Sylvia ; and as for a man already married — it 
was incomprehensible ! 

She looked very serious as she fixed two 
clear brown eyes on the other’s attractive 
face. 

“Then you don’t really care for Captain 
Dalton, Yera?” she said, with a dubious in- 
tonation. Why any one should care to be 
everlastingly in the society of a man she did 
not love, was a mystery to Sylvia. 

“No, child. Only this much — I think 
about him, and wonder what colours he likes 
to see me in best, and act for his edification 
when I am talking, or singing, or dancing 
with other people. And when he comes up 
to me and says something in a low voice, I 
feel frantic with delight. That’s all ! ” 

“And you don’t love him?” reiterated 
Sylvia. 


6 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“No. Haven’t I told you a hundred times 
that I love but one man, and him simply to 
distraction. You know his name,” in a low 
voice; “it is Garrick Maitland. There isn’t 
room for two such feelings in that unaccount- 
able organism of mine, which I dare not call a 
heart. If Garry came here, you would see a 
change. I should be perfectly quiet and per- 
fectly miserable. I am always beautifully 
miserable when he is by ; that is how I know 
I love him. Captain Dalton doesn’t make me 
feel the least bit unhappy.” 

“But you probably make Mrs. Dalton feel 
the least bit unhappy.” 

“I think not. She doesn’t see much, and 
she is so used to his manner of conducting 
himself, that I expect nothing would make her 
jealous.” 

“Should you like to make her jealous, 
Vera?” Sylvia asked this in very solemn 
tones, after a slight pause. 

.Vera hesitated. Then her lips parted into 
a wicked smile, and the dark eyebrows arched 
themselves. 

“It is a difficult question, Daisy,” she said. 
“It would give a great flavour, wouldn’t it? 
It is not much fun to think a man is only say- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


7 


in g the same things to you that he has said to 
a score of other women, and that his wife 
knows, and is laughing at you, is it ? ” 

“Oh, don’t, Yera!” cried the girl, in real 
pain; this tone shocked her. “You don’t 
mean what you say. I have known you go 
out of your way to do a kindness too often 
to believe that you would like that poor lit- 
tle woman to suffer.” 

“ Suffer ! ” The laugh on Yera’s lips faded 
out. “No,” she said impetuously; u I would 
rather suffer myself, if it came to that. I 
did not mean it — oh, no ! Sylvia, do you 
think, if you studied me very hard, you 
could interpret me to myself? I would give 
you carte blanche to be quite candid and 
disagreeable. Tell me now, on first thoughts, 
what do you think of me?” 

“ Think of you ! ” the other echoed faint- 
ly. She was not given to placing her friend 
under the microscope of analytic criticism. 
She could only pause and say slowly — 

“I — really don’t know what I do think of 
you — actually — except that, while I am proud 
of your friendship, I am sometimes very dis- 
appointed in you — when you flirt with Cap- 
tain Dalton, for instance. For it is flirting 


8 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


after all, you know, and a very small thing. 
You ought to be above that.” 

“Why ought I to be above that? Because 
I am studying with a view to Oxford honours, 
and have written a fairly successful work of 
fiction ? My dearest Sylvia, these are parts of 
one whole — a craving for sensation and excite- 
ment. Why do you contemplate college life 
with such delight and longing? why wish to 
lose yourself in an atmosphere of solid erudi- 
tion? Tell me that.” 

The girl with the unspoilt brown eyes 
looked very thoughtful as she sought ex- 
pression for an answer. She was utterly un- 
accustomed to ask herself why she desired 
things. • 

“I suppose because I love books and study 
better than anything else in the world,” she 
said finally. 

Yera laughed softly. 

“I knew that was what you would say,” 
she said ; “but you deceive yourself, my little 
Sylvia. You could have books enough here, 
and read all day long if you wished. I am 
sure that dear devoted mother and that proud 
father of yours would never deny you any- 
thing that could be bought with honest round 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


9 


shillings No ; yon want the excitement of 
the race, all the life of the struggle, a chance 
of the prize. Of course you do, for all your 
soft, dreamy earnestness and love of dear 
books for their own sakes. Don’t try to de- 
lude me with yourself. I have marked the 
necessity for excitement in the pages of life. 
It is written plainly enough, in your first vol- 
ume as in my second, which is just begun. 
It is becoming importunate. I can’t get away 
from it, this longing for sensation ; and as 
most forms of it are getting stale to me, I am 
entering for the stakes of learning, by way of 
a change. Seest thou ? ” 

“Then I wish you would completely devote 
yourself to learning, and eschew less worthy 
means of ‘sensation,’ as you call it,” said 
Sylvia, with a vision of Captain Dalton hover- 
ing behind Yera’s fair head. To her surprise, 
the only rejoinder was a startling question. 

“ Sylvia, do you think he likes me ? ” 

“Who?” 

“Captain Dalton. You knew whom I 
meant.” 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” 

She rose abruptly, puzzled and angry at the 
question, which she considered unworthy of 

2 


10 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


her friend. Vera rose too, and put her arms 
round her. 

“Don’t be vexed with me, dear innocent,” 
she pleaded, with witching eyes and melting 
voice. 44 You must take a friend for better or 
worse, as you would a husband, don’t you 
know? And remember my training, which 
was completely low-class and frivolous. I 
belong to the 4 upper ten ’ neither by birth 
nor education, and I have grown up as I 
liked, a very weed, possibly, but one you have 
planted in your garden, so must make the 
best of it. I won’t do anything really bad to 
make you ashamed of me, I promise you.” 

44 1 know you won’t.” The pensive face 
lightened. 44 But, Vera, why talk like this, 
calling yourself a weed, when you know you 
are a very gorgeous flower, but growing wild 
by mistake ? Can’t you prune yourself, some- 
how, and leave off clinging to mouldy walls ?” 

4 4 If you allude to Captain Dalton as a 
mouldy wall — ” 

44 Don’t be silly. I allude to your craving 
for excitement in any form, which you have 
just now confessed. Vera, you are too great 
to let your actions be small.” 

44 On the contrary, sweetheart, I am too 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


11 


small to let my actions be great. But, as I 
began by saying, I believe I could be one- 
centred and whole-souled as you are, if only 
this sense of touch were not so strong upon 
me. The firm hand of a man when it touches 
mine, or rests on my waist in dancing, makes 
me faint, and I lose all my strength in a con- 
sciousness of femininity. Not all men, you 
know, but some, overpower me like that.” 

“And it all arises from your craving for 
novelty of impression, you think ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Sylvia. Most likely. If I 
could but get into a world where there were 
no men, what a woman I could be. Splendid ! 
Oh, but wouldn’t it be intolerably dull ? Isn’t 
it curious how all parts of one’s nature contra- 
dict each other, until one doesn’t know what 
one wants \ ” 

“I know what I want,” said her friend, 
who by this time was brushing out long strands 
of hair before a glass : “I want to go to bed, 
and not to discuss metaphysical questions.” 
Her words were thick, because of the hair in 
her mouth. 

“Very well.” Yera likewise sought a 
brush. “Let us, then, as our friend ‘No end 
of a joke’ would say, ‘chuck metaphysics,’ 


12 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


and adjourn this interesting discussion upon 
the character of Veronica Grace until the 4 lark 
at heaven’s gate sings, and winking mary- 
buds’ — What is it that 4 winking marybuds’ 
do % Oh, I know ! 4 begin to ope ’ something — 
‘eyes,’ I think. Sylvia, why is ‘A priori ’so 
fond of hearing me sing 4 Who is Sylvia ? ’ ” 

There was a murmured exclamation as the 
person addressed let fall a hairpin, and stooped 
to regain it. 

“How should I know ? ” she said, when that 
action had been performed. 44 Because you 
sing it so well, I suppose, and it is a lovely 
song.” 

“ But ‘A priori’ is not fond of music, dear 
Sylvia.” 

4 4 How do you know ? ” 

4 4 Oh, because he never listens when I sing 
anything else.” 

Silence. 

The last thing heard in the room was Vera’s 
voice, muffled in bedclothes, chanting softly — 

“ Holy, fair, and wise is she, 

The heavens such grace did lend her, 

That adored she might be, 

That adored she might be.” 


CHAPTER II. 

“ Love is the art of hearts and heart of arts.” 

Bailey. 

There was a small but comfortable party 
staying at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Ford 
Grant in the prettiest part of Surrey. Mr. and 
Mrs. Ford Grant were comfortable people to 
know, and you felt sure of a hearty welcome 
and pleasant times under their roof, providing 
you did not happen to be of very “ smart” 
proclivities, or afraid whom you might meet. 
They were people who might have shone in 
Society (with the largest of S’s) ; for Mr. Grant, 
the son of a distinguished soldier, holding a 
dignified post under Government, and married 
to the daughter of a big Church gun, was enti- 
tled to the right hand of fellowship throughout 
the magic circle of those who have breathed a 
kiss upon the hand of their sovereign. Indeed, 
both he and Mrs. Grant had gone through the 
above-mentioned ceremony themselves, and 


14 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


very relieved they were when it was over ! But 
they were not fashionable people. They dined 
at seven, and did not run after lions, and only 
cultivated the people who really amused and 
interested them. 

This is partly to account for the presence of 
Veronica Grace in their house : she being of 
distinctly middle-class origin, and, with quite 
beautiful directness, having told Mrs. Ford 
Grant at once that her father was a tradesman. 
She even had alluded to her friends in the trad- 
ing community quite plainly, showing some 
familiarity with the ways and manners of 
butchers and bakers in private life, and no 
shame in acknowledging the same. 

Perhaps this may have helped to convince 
Sylvia’s father and mother of the originality 
and natural distinction of the girl whom their 
daughter had picked up at a meeting of Uni- 
versity Extension students. For they were 
people who, liking and daring to be uncon- 
ventional themselves, were instinctively drawn 
towards that disposition in others. But in 
any case, any one whom Sylvia liked was sure 
to be taken to the hearts of her parents with- 
out reserve. She was their only child, a petted 
but unspoilt darling ; receiving from them a 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


15 


happy, though somewhat serious temperament, 
and a most careful training. She was as un- 
complicated in machinery as it is possible for a 
girl to be, who has more than average mental 
capacity and a profound nature. Having taken 
to books as a lark takes to sunlight, she soared 
somewhat beyond the average young lady of 
her class, who is bounded by devotion to toi- 
lette, and appetite for masculine attentions. 

Why she had fallen in love with Yeronica 
in such an eager and spontaneous manner is 
perhaps a little puzzling ; but it is possible 
that the strong individuality, warm sympathy, 
and great personal magnetism of the elder 
woman inundated a certain dry place in her 
heart before reason had time to check the 
deluge. 

Be that as it may, she came home with 
glowing accounts of the charming, talented 
girl she had met during her stay at the Uni- 
versity, who could do everything, and whom 
the professors stopped to flatter and en- 
courage. She had found her as earnest as 
herself in pursuit of knowledge, and a fasci- 
nating associate, amusing as well as inspiring. 
So that Mrs. Grant was delighted to invite the 
new star to her house as a. companion for 


16 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


Sylvia, who had gone quite college mad, and 
was imploring for a future of Somerville. 
This was the first visit, and so far it had been 
a huge success. Yera was the animating 
genius of the house-party — an informal party 
of genial people, all gathered together any- 
how, apparently, yet fitting together extremely 
well. The middle-aged politicians of Mr. Ford 
Grant’s own circle of friends found her most 
entertaining, with her half-and-half views en- 
thusiastically expressed, and her quick gen- 
eralisations. The serious young men (who 
were represented by a pale curate,— invited be- 
cause he had few friends and was ill from 
over- work, — and a clever young professor 
whom Yera called “A priori”) found her in- 
tently responsive, and were always only half 
ready for her sudden changes from savage 
earnestness to satirical flippancy. The boys, 
of whom there were tw T o, nicknamed by her 
“No end of a joke” and “Bounder,” for 
their constant repetition of the two expres- 
sions, adored and watched her. All the women 
liked her, presumably ; especially the two or 
three young girls of Sylvia’s age, whom Sylvia 
scorned as water-flies ; and Captain Dalton, 
the husband of a distant cousin of the Ford 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


17 


Grants, selected her as his antidote against the 
ennui that assailed him on most occasions. 
He distinguished Vera with as much homage 
as it was safe to show, and was generally in 
her background. 

It was the day of the Tennis Tournament, 
to be held a few miles from the house, in the 
grounds of a friend, for a charity ; and Mrs. 
Ford Grant, always down first, was watering 
the flowers in her conservatory, about as 
happy and free from care as the bees and 
bluebottles that buzzed around her. 

“Ah! good morning, Frank,” she said, 
half turning her head, and giving an orchid an 
over-dose by reason of the same. “Have you 
had breakfast % ” 

Frank — who, by the way, corresponded to 
the title of “No end of a joke” — intimated 
that he had not, but would rather wait till 
some of the girls came down. 

“No fun, don’t you know, having your 
feed alone, Mrs. Grant,” he said half-apolo- 
getically. “I thought perhaps Yera — Miss 
GraCe might be down.” 

Mrs. Grant gave him a sharp glance. 

“You must not expect her down just yet. 
She and Sylvia talk half the night, so they 


18 DUST AND LAURELS. 

have to make up for it in the morning. Miss 
Grace is your partner to-day, isn’t she ? ” 

“ Yes ; and a thundering good partner, 
too, if you’ll excuse the slang word” (and 
he never produced a sentence without one, 
truly !). “ She promised to be down in good 

time this morning, so that we might get 
there early and have a practice on the courts. 
I am going to drive her .over in the dogcart, 
you know.” 

“ Oh, are you? Not with French Cat, I 
hope ? She isn’t safe, Frank.” 

“ Oh yes, Mrs. Grant ; she is really. The 
long drive yesterday will have taken all the 
tantrums out of her. By Jove ! ” 

This exclamation was due to the appear- 
ance of Vera strolling slowly across the lawn 
in a becoming morning frock, accompanied by 
two dogs and Captain Dalton. 

Frank Thorold bit his lip. The boy was 
really hit, and he was only nineteen — a manly 
boy, all ready to cast himself on an ocean of 
romance, although composed of the most 
British matter-of-factness. He had far -too 
much reverence for Vera to suspect her of 
any impropriety, but at the same time he ob- 
jected to seeing the gallant captain at her 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


19 


side. It irritated him against his will or 
reason. 

Opening the conservatory door, he walked 
over the grassy slope outside until he reached 
the smiling couple, almost before they saw 
him. 

Vera held out her hand with a gracious 
look, although she did not want him just 
then. Captain Dalton had more influence 
over her already than she cared to own, even 
to herself. 

“ What cheer, comrade?” she asked her 
tennis partner, as she stooped to caress the 
collie hovering near her skirts. The dewy 
fresh air had given her a very slight colour, 
and the sun shone on her hair. Frank un- 
consciously acknowledged she was intoxicat- 
ing, with that laughing warmth in her eyes 
and that little fluff of hair blown by a soft 
breeze across her temple. 

“ I’ve been down an age, waiting for you,” 
he said. “ When shall you be ready ?” 

“ Ready ? What for ? Oh, to drive ! Not 
yet, I’m afraid, as I have pot had my break- 
fast, and I shall have to get into my proper 
frame of clothes, don’t you know? When 
shall you be ready ? ” 


20 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“ I am ready now, at any moment. Don’t 
you know how late it is? I thought you 
wanted to be there early.” 

“ So I do. Why did you tempt me to 
come out here, Captain Dalton ? ” She turned 
to the man at her side, who was tall and 
bronzed and dark, with the sort of look sup- 
posed to be attractive to women — a battered 
expression, as of having gone through hell-fire 
and out again. He suggested they should re- 
turn at once and breakfast together, without 
answering her impossible question. 

“No end of a joke,” after having walked by 
their side into the house, disappeared for a 
moment to give orders about the dogcart,- and 
then her companion said — 

“Are you really going to trust that boy to 
drive you over in the dogcart ? ” 

“ I certainly am. Why not? ” 

He gauged her face earnestly with a pair of 
powerful eyes. 

“Why do you ? ” he asked. 

“I — I shall like it. He’s a delightful boy, 
and I love a dogcart — one feels so free. Don’t 
you like to feel free ? ” 

He laughed, a short little laugh. 

“I might like it, but, as I am very far from 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


21 


attaining freedom, I find it wiser to pretend I 
don’t. What did you mean, Miss Grace ? ” 

She scarcely knew why she felt a creeping 
colour in her face as she answered— 

“ Just what I said, and nothing more.” 

“ Would you have gone with me in the 
dogcart, if I could have arranged it?” he 
asked. 

“Ok no, certainly not. You must go in 
the carriage with Mrs. Dalton and your part- 
ner. You did not ask me to play with you, 
you see.” 

“Ask you, when that boy booked you at 
the very first suggestion of a Tournament ! 
Had I a chance ? I want to beg for a waltz or 
two to-night, if we dance, but expect I am too 
late — or have you one left % ” 

“ Don’t be absurd ! Of course I have heaps 
of waltzes left unbooked.” 

“Then may I have two — three — four — half 
a dozen — or all you can spare from Mr. Frank 
Thorold and your other devotees ? ” 

“If I am not too tired.” 

“And then we could sit out. I hope fer- 
vently I shall not be expected to dance much. 
My exhausted frame is unequal to double doses 
of tennis and waltzing.” 


22 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“ And I liope fervently” — began Vera, then 
broke off. One of the girls rushed up and 
embraced her. 

“ What do you hope fervently % ” she asked, 
as they went into the breakfast-room. 

“ That Mrs. Smircher will appear this even- 
ing in that lovely red satin with the violet gar- 
nishing which she wore last night,” was the 
answer. “I was dreaming of it all last night, 
and it haunts my waking vision. I believe I 
can’t live without again tasting that exquisite 
confection.” 

She was helping herself to a chair, and draw- 
ing her skirts aside for Dalton to seat himself 
beside her as she spoke, when Frank Thorold 
came in through the door opposite. 

“It’s no end of a nuisance,” he said, taking 
the chair vacant on her other hand, “but 
Jervis says he must go with us. He thinks 
I am not used to French Cat, who is in swag- 
ger form, and will go like steam. But I hate 
a man behind listening to all you say; don’t 
you?” 

“No, I like one. One wants a man to open 
gates and things. And besides, consider how 
our intellectual conversation ought to improve 
his mind. You should never neglect a chance 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


23 


of influencing and developing the untrained 
mental powers of the lower orders, you know, 
Mr. Thorold.” 

She lowered her lashes that he might not 
see the laugh under them. Poor Frank ! His 
intellectual faculties were indeed somewhat 
higher than those of a well-bred St. Bernard 
dog. 

“ Mental powers be — I don’t want to 
offend you, Miss Grace, but of course you are 
laughing wdien you talk about our conversa- 
tion being likely to improve anybody very 
much.” 

“ Hadn’t you better confine yourself to the 
first person singular, Thorold?” said Captain 
Dalton, with an amused smile. “You surely 
would not dare to insinuate that Miss Grace’s 
converse could be aught than improving ? ” 

Frank simply looked at him in disgust. 

“Miss Grace understands what I mean if 
you don’t,” he said, with that confidence in 
her sympathy which she always contrived to 
gain. 

The meal finally was over for those who 
began together, although others kept drop- 
ping in. Amongst the late comers was the 
“Bounder,” justly, indignant that he had not 


24 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


come in time to breakfast with “The Grace/’ 
as he called Vera, to Frank’s unmitigated 
disgust. 

“That confounded fellow did not wake me 
till half -past nine ! Tea, please ” (to the serv- 
ant). “I thought it was about six,” he added, 
to explain the fact of his arrival down at half- 
past eleven. 

While various suggestions were being made 
as to the best modes of awakening oneself in 
the morning, Vera slipped away to don a loose 
blouse and shady hat. To her Sylvia, on the 
stairs — 

“Vera, it’s not safe. Frank is such a ran- 
dom fellow, and the French Cat is horribly 
frisky. Don’t go in the dogcart.” 

“My dear Syllie, you speak to a deaf ear. 
The gods have settled I am to go with ‘No end 
of a joke,’ and if I am killed, well, that will be 
the end of the joke. There’s no more to be said. 
England expects every woman to be a coward, 
I know, but — ” 

“Go to destruction then, only don’t say I 
didn’t warn you.” 

“I will not, dear, I promise you. That is 
to say, my ghost shall not round on you ; and 
if I am destroyed, I suppose I cannot reproach 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


25 


you in the flesh. Do you think Flossie 
minds ?” 

“She would like to have gone with Frank, 
perhaps ; but will be quite satisfied with the 
‘ Bounder . 5 I expect you would enjoy it the 
more if you thought any one else would like to 
have been in your place.” 

“Too bad!” laughed Vera, wafting a 
spray of chalk powder over her face lightly 
(they had reached their room). “I am not 
so mean as you would make out, Sylvia. I 
like that little girl, she is so nice to me. I 
don’t want her boy a bit. I do want to get 
him down in black and white, though ; boys 
are so fascinating to draw. There is a sort 
of pearliness about them, delicious things ! 
I must get Frank into ‘ Fractions' some- 
how.” 

This was the title of a story she worked 
at by fits and starts. 

The drive began well, and Yera felt in the 
highest of spirits. A sensibility to weather 
influence was one of her strongest character- 
istics, and the day was as fair as a June day 
can well be. The scent of conifers and honey- 
suckle combined made the air a feast ; and 
the sparkle and purity everywhere enthralled 

3 


26 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


the senses. At every turn of the road, where 
they came across a fresh view of the land- 
scape, she would feel a new swell of joy, and 
nothing disturbed her sensations of absolute 
exhilaration. The suspicion of fear, when 
French Cat indulged in antics of a diverting 
nature, lent another charm to the situation by 

exciting those strangely tense nerves of hers 

% 

into a delicious stir of horror. She loved just 
enough danger to tingle her nerves. 

But she had really no anxiety, being used 
to horses and driving herself ; and therefore 
was more than astonished when French 
Cat, suddenly alarmed by a bird from the 
hedge when they least expected it, half sat 
down, then sprang forward, darted to one 
side, and finally flung out the three occu- 
pants of the dogcart upon the soft hedge-side 
turf. 

Half-dazed, with a queer ache in one shoul- 
der, Vera lay with closed eyes, wondering 
vaguely if she were very much mutilated, and 
whether the other two were killed : when arms 
were thrown round her, and she felt herself 
raised from the ground tenderly. “My dar- 
ling, my darling, you are dead ! ” said a low 
voice ; and before she had time to deny the 


DUST AND LAURELS. 27 

statement, a very warm kiss was pressed upon 
lier lips. 

She gave a struggle and exclaimed vehe- 
mently, “No, I’m not dead a bit! Please 
don’t be foolish, Mr. Thorold. Oh, where’s 
my hat ? ” 

In the confusion of the moment both 
laughed, though Frank was feeling undeni- 
ably small. It makes you feel small to be 
contradicted by one you thought dead, espe- 
cially when you have been taking liberties 
with the supposed remains. 

By the time Vera had struggled to her 
feet, and was holding on with both hands to 
Frank’s arm, the groom, who had slipped 
out, and therefore was unhurt, had caught 
the frightened French Cat, and was looking 
ruefully at the broken harness. 

“You must forgive me,” Frank was say- 
ing — he was rather bruised himself, and felt 
shaky. “It is all out now. I can’t help it; 
but I really thought you were killed, and I 
couldn’t bear it.” 

“Yes, it is all out, certainly — we are all 
out,” cried Yera hysterically: “and there’s 
a hat for a tennis tournament! Oh, you 
mustn’t say any more, Mr. Thorold. We 


28 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


must forget all this : it is nonsense, you 
know.” 

“It is not nonsense with me,” said poor 
Frank, still holding her hand tightly. “Tell 
me you forgive me for taking that kiss, and 
that you’ll give me a chance, and I shall be 
the happiest Johnny in the world. I really 
do love you no end.” 

Vera restrained an inclination to laugh 
and cry at once when she heard the inevi- 
table “no end” drop in at the tail of the 
sentence. 

“I do forgive you, certainly,” she said 
rather tremulously; “but we can’t discuss it 
here. I feel so shaky. What shall we do ? ” 

The prospect certainly was not inviting ; 
but before Frank could answer, there were 
indications of carriage wheels in the distance, 
and the problem was solved by the appear- 
ance of a carriage containing Captain and 
Mrs. Dalton, Sylvia, and the girl who was 
going to play with Captain Dalton in the 
tournament. 

Their looks of consternation when they 
saw Vera and Frank on the road are not 
easily described. Sylvia was the first to jump 
out and clasp her friend in her arms. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


29 


“My darling Vera, are you hurt?” she 
inquired anxiously ; and upon receiving a 
reply in the negative, she heard Dalton say, 
“Thank God ! ” under his moustache, so fer- 
vently that she was startled. 

“I knew that idiot would upset you,” 
he said to Vera later, when they were en- 
sconced in a tent at the tournament, tri- 
fling with a dainty little lunch. “ Why 
would you not be advised by people who 
knew best ? ” 

“Because 4 1 like my own way, and I think 
it so nice,’” she replied half languidly. “I 
always do as I like, Captain Dalton, and I am 
always sorry for it afterwards. To-day, I am 
well punished, as I wanted to play awfully ; 
but my shoulder aches, and I feel like a Chi- 
nese puzzle badly put together.” 

It was quite true that her shoulder ached, 
and she thought it was quite true that she 
was punished ; but, as a matter of fact, she 
was enjoying herself very much indeed. She 
was the heroine of the occasion, every one was 
concerned over her, and she had just that at- 
mosphere of excitement and flattered vanity 
which her soul loved. She watched the play 
with something like a feeling of relief, that 


30 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


she was not running about in the heat and 
getting her hair out of curl. 

Between lunch and tea she had a delight- 
ful chat with “ A priori” (whose name, by the 
way, was Noel Gordon), about the origin and 
development of consciousness in plants, to 
which Sylvia listened half in awe, as she did 
not understand bantering speculation upon 
improbabilities, and was only impressed by 
the cleverness of the ideas which coruscated 
through the mock-serious discussion. 

Captain Dalton hung in the vicinity con- 
tinually, with Frank, who had refused to play 
with any other partner. The latter was very 
quiet and slightly puzzled. 

Was Vera flirting with Gordon, or only 
verily revelling in intellectual word-thrust? 
He was a young Englishman, with a young 
Englishman’s simplicity, and Vera’s conduct 
under certain circumstances had tried wiser 
heads than his in her day. 

The mother of a hot and struggling girl on 
the courts, after watching Yera, and listening 
for some time to her singular and unmeditated 
^>se^<9-scientific jargon, turned to Sylvia and 
asked, in tones wherein curiosity strove with 
ill-concealed scorn — 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


31 


“ Who is the lady who gives her opinions 
so freely, and seems to have no reserves ? 
Am I likely to know her ? ” 

Sylvia drew aside impatiently. She would 
rather listen to Vera than discuss her. 

“ She is my friend, Miss Veronica Grace. 
You may possibly know her as the author of 
‘ Nought but a Cipher she replied, with 
conscious pride. 

“Indeed? I haven’t read the book, but I 
have heard of it. It was severely criticised, 
was it not ? ” 

“It obtained a great sale,” was all Sylvia 
deigned to answer. 

“Yes, of course. The critics are not 
always right. Now, a friend of mine wrote a 
book that was reviewed most highly, but the 
public would not read it : which shows how 
people may be disappointed in the effects of 
satisfactory criticism.” 

“I don’t think Vera’s story was roughly 
handled, though,” said Sylvia, bound to stand 
up for this too slight creation of her friend’s. 
“It was not intended to be more than amus- 
ing, and in that it certainly succeeded. The 
reviewers only said it was not a literary work 
of art, and was faulty in construction. They 


32 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


acknowledged there was talent in it, as every 
one must who has read it.” She felt she 
had vindicated Vera’s position as an au- 
thor, and was beginning to wonder whether 
she could soon get some tea. The lady by 
her side had more to say and refused to re- 
lease her. 

“ Mr. Gordon seems very much epris, does 
he not?” she went on. “I thought at first 
that Captain Dalton was the favoured in- 
dividual, but the young lady seems to like a 
change.” 

Sylvia felt a curious little numbness pass 
over her. Was Mr. Gordon epris t she won- 
dered vaguely, with a strangely personal won- 
der. Too simple-minded to analyse, she was 
puzzled by her own feelings. 

“ You are going to have some tea? ” Cap- 
tain Dalton was speaking to her on the other 
side, with his masterful eyes on her. She col- 
oured, without the faintest idea that her own 
thoughts were painting her. He wondered, 
too, at the blush. 

“ Are you not glad that you are not play- 
ing deuce and vantage over there in the sun ? ” 
he asked, with his languid smile lifting the 
ends of his moustache. “This is better, isn’t 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


33 


it ? although Miss Grace pretends to be dying 
to play.” 

“Vera does not pretend,” said Sylvia 
gravely ; “ she really likes tennis, and she 
doesn’t mind getting hot.” 

“But she is enjoying herself very much 
now, don’t you think ? I hardly dared to in- 
terrupt with anything so mundane as tea. 
She is quite lost to the world.” 

Sylvia looked across the grass to where her 
friend was lifting an animated chin to the 
earnest gaze of Noel Gordon, and felt the 
queerness of a faint shock again. 

4 4 They are very interested, ” she said. 4 4 Mr. 
Gordon likes to argue with some one worthy 
of his steel.” 

The coldness in her tone struck Dalton, 
who was by no means void of tact or percep- 
tion. He laughed lightly. 

44 And they would never agree, those two 
disputants. You had better part them before 
they come to blows, I think, Miss Sylvia,” he 
said. 

44 There is no fear of that , I should say,” 
put in the lady who had spoken before. 
44 They seem far too much absorbed in each 
other to quarrel.” 


36 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


I — I dare not even think what I want, or the 
name of him I — Why can I win anything 
another woman would prize, but not the one 
prize I care about ? It is not because I don’t 
deserve it, because the undeserving are gener- 
ally the most fortunate. How I wish I could 
say, I am quite true to myself ! Oh for 
strength ! I shall lose my Sylvia, and get old 
with no companion, but only a regret to look 
back upon. Better be wholly bad than this 
half -goodness, which makes of me a pale neg- 
ative. I was born and educated for a bad 
woman — why disappoint the devil when I am 
not able to be good enough to satisfy myself ? 
Ah ! it is lucky there is no temptation at hand 
just now ! ” She set her strong white teeth 
and laughed aloud, at the same moment that a 
shadow fell across her from behind. 


CHAPTER III. 


“In a globe of film, all vapourish, 

Swam full-faced, like a silly silver fish.” 

Rossetti. 

The moonlight was partly answerable for 
the soft tone in which she answered Captain 
Dalton’s remark, “ Is it really you, Miss 
Grace, out in the garden alone, with a joke 
all to yourself \ ” (for he had caught her 
laugh). 

She looked at him with pretty parted lips 
and a beam of welcome. Her heart had 
started violently for a moment, and a curious 
feeling of superstition had crept over her. It 
was as if her words had invoked the evil temp- 
tation she had laughed over as distant. 

“I can hardly believe my luck,” he went 
on, “ to find you alone here when I was con- 
templating only the society of my cigar” 
(which he flung away as he spoke) ; “but 
now you will let me take a turn with you, will 
you not ? ” 


( 37 ) 


38 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“No, I think not,” said Vera, in haste to 
form a good resolution. “I must go in, or 
Sylvia will be finding out I am not in my 
room, and then” — She halted. 

“But you cannot be so flint-hearted as to 
go now that I have found you. Indeed I 
will not have you — I cannot let you leave 
me.” 

He spoke in tones so unlike his usual 
drawl, that Vera was thrilled with the nerve- 
sensation she loved — a mixture of danger- 
consciousness and romance, which a suspicion 
of passion in a man always roused in her. 

“ Captain Dalton,” she said, in good imita- 
tion of the haughty virtue of a novel-heroine, 
“you must please not talk like that. You 
forget yourself.” 

The speech pleased her very much, and she 
felt so nice and good that she almost acted up 
to the occasion. Dalton was not deceived. 
Like most men, he read a woman more by 
instinct than reasoning. She was very charm- 
ing, and out here, under silver light, in a soft 
cloak of shimmering blue, she appeared lovely 
enough to turn a man’s head— especially a 
man who had been drinking several glasses of 
very good port after a satisfactory dinner. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


39 


So he did not give way an inch, although 
feigning humility. 

“You must forgive me,” he said. “I did 
not mean to speak so abruptly. As you say, 
I forgot myself, but perhaps not without ex- 
cuse. You are excuse enough for any man’s 
delirium. There is dew on this grass ; do not 
let us stop here to argue the question, but 
come over into the avenue, where your feet 
will not get wet.” 

“You are very thoughtful.” Yera laughed 
a little, but not quite naturally. She was in- 
wardly struggling, though she knew quite well 
which side of herself would conquer. “But 
really, Captain Dalton, I must not stay here.” 
She let him slip his arm through hers, all the 
same. “I only came out for a breath of air, 
and I felt so restless.” 

“No wonder; you have had a most trying 
day. I hope you will not be the worse for it 
to-morrow. The dancing has been deferred in 
your honour. I believe we all felt that a waltz 
without you would be Dead Sea fruit.” 

“ How absurd ! Why do you say such in- 
sane things? You mean every one is tired to- 
night. Do be straight ! I like directness in a 


man. 


40 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“Do you? But there are some cases in 
which a man dare not be direct, Miss Vera.” 

“Are there ? I think not. I don’t acknowl- 
edge them.” (Was she speaking the truth 
or not ? For the very life of her she couldn’t 
tell.) 

“You believe it best to go right to the root 
of things. You think a man ought to say 4 1 
love you ’ to the woman who has inflamed him, 
whether ” — 

She thought his words, and his gaze were 
becoming too direct ; his arm was trembling, 
too, so she stopped him. 

“ I was not thinking of anything of that 
kind. There are exceptions in every case.” 

“And you said you acknowledged no ex- 
ceptions ? ” 

“But then a woman can’-t be quite consist- 
ent always, can she ? ” 

Laughing eyes were raised to his, where 
there ought to have been scorn and anger, let 
us say. The owner of the eyes knew this, but 
the moon-power had carried her too far, and 
the strong arm in hers was drawing out her 
strength surely, surely. 

The look was enough for the man’s already 
fermented brain. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


41 


“Vera!” lie exclaimed passionately; 
“listen — you must hear me. I am not going 
to have you play the fool with me, as you do 
with those boys in the house. Don’t you know 
you have a man to deal with, my dear little 
girl, and one who knows his way about ? I am 
not to be trifled with by all this show of pru- 
dishness. I know you mean me to make love 
to you, and I mean to do as I like ; that is, I 
mean you to give me something in return for 
my devotion. It is not going to be only 
play” — He stopped, and tried to put his 
arm round her, but this she repulsed with 
determination, and he found he had not yet 
sapped all her strength. 

She looked straight into the handsome 
eyes, in spite of the burning brutality in them, 
with real anger in her gaze, feeling instinc- 
tively it was quite beautiful to be playing such 
a heroic part. 

“Captain Dalton,” she said in a very low, 
intense voice, “you are a worse man than I 
believed you to be. What do you mean by 
this? I thought we were to be friends— stop 
— I mean real friends, not this kind of thing. 
I have not been trying to play with you or any 
one else. How dare you say so! My whole 
4 


42 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


life is bound up in my work— my writing” 
(she thought this was true just now), “and all 
men have only an outside interest for me. Do 
you think I am going to submit to be called 
She paused. 

“ A dear little girl,” he finished the sentence. 
“I will call you a bewitching woman, or a fair 
enchantress, or a goddess incarnate, or any- 
thing whatever you please, so that you answer 
to it. Only, I will have you, darling ! ” 

Yera stamped. 

“ Silence ! ” she demanded. 

There was silence for a few minutes, whilst 
he looked at her, slightly puzzled to know 
whether she were really angry or no. 

Suddenly she gave a great sigh and drooped 
a little. This time there was no acting. With 
most women of acute nerve-organization, she 
was liable to physical collapse of power, and 
the events of the day had been telling upon 
her. She staggered towards one of the trees in 
the avenue, and leant against the trunk pant- 
ing. He was alarmed as he hurried towards 
her ; but Yera was not a fainting subject. 

“I feel so queer,” she said, with a gasping 
little laugh, “ but it will go off directly. Don’t 
be afraid, I shan’t faint — I never have done.” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


43 


She put one hand to her throat to loosen the 
collar, and drew a long breath. Then she 
laid the other on his arm and leant upon it, 
looking white and pathetic in the shadow. 

“ It is my fault,” he protested ruefully, the 
best of him coming to the surface, as it will to 
any man worth his manhood, at the sight of a 
woman’s distress. “It is my confounded vio- 
lence and insolence. Will you forgive me, 
though I cannot forgive myself? I did not 
mean to frighten you. I was carried away. 
You know I would rather die than hurt a hair 
of your head.” His force of accent made the 
words sound quite true and almost original. 

But it had come that Yera was in no mood 
to complain of lack of originality in her lover. 
She had idealised herself and him into another 
world, where passion was the only fixed law of 
action. For with the sudden failure of her 
muscles, all her reasoning and mental or moral 
strength gave out. She had become a pencil- 
drawing of herself, all the true colour of her 
individuality had faded away, and she was as 
much a shade as the outline of the beech at 
her feet. Leaning her head against Dalton’s 
shoulder, she said faintly and sweetly— 

“ I know, I believe you do care for me too 


44 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


much to hurt me ; but I am afraid of you all 
the same, when you look so fierce and talk so 
wildly.” She could feel his breath, which was 
coming rather fast, as she spoke. “You don’t 
understand me a little bit, Captain Dalton ; 
neither do I understand myself ; but I know 
this is all wrong, and so do you — very wrong, 
and wicked, and horrible ! It must be the last 
time ” — 

He interrupted her. 

“Not the last — you cannot doom me like 
that. It may be wrong, but we are not the 
only pair in the world who have found out too 
late that there is no life apart. And what 
sense is there in blinking facts % Matters have 
gone too far, I tell you, Yera.” 

A faint misty figure was rising behind 
Yera’s consciousness, like a wet moon from 
a cloud. It was the apparition of Garrick 
Maitland, the man whom she had supposed 
she loved with the whole of herself. But 
then, after all, had she not been only walking 
in a dream till now? The present is the 
true, all else is illusionary ; the touch of 
Captain Dalton’s arm was very real. The 
strength of his manhood was a spell over her, 
a baneful one, blotting out all such luminous 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


45 


ghosts as Garrick, who had certainly never 
made love to her like this. Why throw the 
actual away for a delusion, when the former is 
within her grasp ? Her whole nature was dis- 
torted now. It was life to feel that strong arm 
round her, and living breath upon her tem- 
ples. Was not sin sweet? Did any one ever 
resist it with a heart of wax against the melt- 
ing heat of passion ? Ah ! she checked her 
thoughts with a quick breath, and pushed her- 
self from her companion into the moonlight on 
the gravelled road again. For a moment the 
last shred of will in her kept him at bay, then 
his eyes subdued her, and she drifted. She 
lifted her face in the white light as his arms 
closed round her — and then — there came a cry 
from somewhere, as their lips met. 

As by a flash of deadly lightning she stood 
face to face with herself, when, turning, they 
both saw figures at a few yards’ distance. 
These seemed only the figments in a dream as 
yet, when one — all pale in womanly outline — 
threw up arms and fell full length on the turf 
beside the very tree against which Vera had 
been leaning a few minutes ago. Her com- 
panion knelt down over her with a sup- 
pressed exclamation. Dalton and Vera 


46 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


hurried forward with an impulse between 
them. 

Mrs. Dalton lay on the grass unconscious, 
and Frank Thorold was bending over her, 
trying to lift her helpless head. Vera flung 
herself on her knees with a spasm at her 
throat, when Frank repelled her impetuously. 

“Not you ! ” he said hoarsely ; “you have 
no right to touch her ! Let her husband 
come.” 

In looking back afterwards, Vera always 
felt that, at that moment, she touched su- 
preme degradation, and knew it. Nothing 
could ever burn her again as the scorn and dis- 
gust in her boy-lover’s voice scorched her. 
His action was rough, almost brutal ; she felt 
the ]oss of every atom of respect in it, and 
with the petulance of a spoilt child she w r as 
inclined to cry, “ What have I done? I did 
not know ; it seemed so little ; I could not 
help it.” But at the back of it all there was 
another consciousness — that she could have 
helped it ; that she did not try ; that she had 
dragged all her good gifts and best parts in 
the mud willingly. 

It was horrible now that the glamour and 
excitement had gone out of it all. She walked 


DUST AND LAURELS. 47 

back to the house and to her room like an 
automaton, scarcely feeling her limbs, only 
acknowledging an aching spirit. 

She went straight to the long looking-glass 
in order to assure herself that she was the 
same woman who had gone out, and stood be- 
fore it perfectly motionless. 

Somehow her very thought had become 
paralysed. She was so confused in her mind 
that it had become blank of ideas. All she 
could say, over and over to herself, was, u So 
that is you, Vera — that is you. I know you 
now well — too well.” The contemptuous tone 
of the young man she had called “No end of a 
joke ” had been a veritable mirror to her con- 
science. She saw herself without the kindly 
halo of self-excuse ; and the woman in the 
cheval-glass opposite, under a full glare of 
gaslight, stood out no more clearly than that 
inner Vera who faced her, naked and ashamed. 
She did not smite her forehead and abase her- 
self to the ground, because, at the bottom of 
her sensation, there was a curious desire to 
fathom this mystery of her nature, and ana- 
lyse closely the demoniacal possession that 
had seemed to master her. She looked at her- 
self as if she were under a microscope, inquisi- 


48 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


tively, with a puzzled longing to account for 
the struggle that had taken place within her. 
As she stood there, still half alive only to 
realities, staring at the pale reflection before 
her, whose large, black-fringed eyes fascinated 
her like those of some evil ophidian, and 
whose set features seemed cut upon the glass 
by her immovability, some one entered the 
room behind her with a swift rustle of skirts, 
and, starting sharply, she saw Sylvia. 

A transformed Sylvia, all vivid with a new 
expression, which caused a fresh fear to leap 
through Yera’s frame before she had time to 
classify it. In a few seconds of wit-collection 
she knew that it was not anger, nor disgust, 
nor reproach which dawned on Sylvia’s face, 
as she approached her swiftly, and, before she 
had time to stop her, threw both arms round 
her neck. 

u Yera mm,” said the girl softly, “I have 
something to tell you — so strange ! I think 
you wdll be glad, for I feel so curiously happy. 
I suppose it is the best thing in the world that 
has happened to me.” 

“Yes.” Yera spoke mechanically, with 
little response to the caressing touch. “What 
is it, Sylvia % Can I guess % ” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


49 


“You might,” Sylvia laughed gleefully. 
“It is not the most extraordinary thing in the 
world perhaps, though I never thought Mr. 
Gordon ” — 

“‘A priori!’” ejaculated Vera, with a 
crude laugh, she didn’t know why. 

“Yes; ‘ A priori,’ Vera, if you like to call 
him so. He loves me, Vera, actually me ! ” 

“ That is nothing ! ” With the same harsh 
laugh Vera pushed her friend from her, and 
looked at her with curving lips. “That is 
nothing ; for Captain Dalton loves me ! ” The 
reckless words were no sooner said than a chok- 
ing wave of pain and self-degradation drowned 
her eyes and throat in a great sob. 

“Sylvia, Sylvia, leave me!” she cried. “I 
am not fit company for you, dear Sylvia.” 

Her friend was struck with such perfect 
amazement that she was absolutely speechless 
for a moment. Then her own happiness 
flooded her in charity and passionate ruth, 
for it was impossible not to see how Vera was 
suffering. 

Once more her arms were round Vera’s 
neck. 

“Don’t talk like that, dear,” she said; “I 
am not going to believe you when you say such 


50 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


things about yourself. Friends do not desert 
each other for a slight matter.” 

“ But this is not a slight matter,” Vera said, 
as soon as she could speak. “It means that, 
while you are the happiest woman in the world, 
I am the most miserable ; for I have fallen off 
my pedestal and below my standard when I 
ought to have been most strong. Sylvia, why 
was I born with this horrible predisposition to 
something — I don’t know what % Why could 
not some good strong man have rescued me 
when I was your age, before I could be preyed 
on by all the evil growths that spring upon full 
womanhood. Why were all my worst proclivi- 
ties fostered in my girlhood, instead of my 
best, so that now I am weak — weak against the 
lowest temptations. I wish I had never been 
born — from my heart I do ! ” 

“ But you must not wish that,” Sylvia gently 
soothed her. “You are of use in the world, 
and you are going to be of greater use yet. 
Why do you give way like this, Vera 2 And 
tell me what you meant about Captain Dalton 
just now.” 

“ I was quite serious, Sylvia., I have been 
letting Captain Dalton make love to me, and I 
am not a fit person to be your friend.” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


51 


“Don’t talk nonsense, but tell me all about 
it,” said sympathetic Sylvia of the brown eyes, 
crushing back the thoughts of her own love- 
affair, which threatened to overcrowd her. 
“Sit down here by me, and let me hear the 
worst that has happened. You are not going 
to escape me, and I shall tell you just what 
I think. Do you suppose anybody ever went 
through the world without yielding to some 
temptation or other ? After all, what virtue is 
there in being good because you have never 
been tried 1 ” 

“There is no virtue in failing,”’ said Vera 
sadly; “and, Sylvia, there are some tempta- 
tions I never resisted in my life. This is one. 
If I were out in the moonlight with Captain 
Dalton again ” — 

“ Well % ” asked Sylvia. 

“I should let him make a fool and a coward 
of me again,” continued Vera. 

“It is because you like to be made a fool 
and coward of, then,” said Sylvia; “for your 
will is strong enough when you like to exert 
it.” 

“ I think you are right ; there is such 
a pleasure in feeling oneself a weak wom- 
an — such a curious attraction — such a sweet- 


52 


DUST AND .LAURELS. 


ness ! ” Sylvia’s eyes opened wider and 
wider. 

“ You are getting away from me, Vera,” she 
said ; “I cannot follow yon now. What possi- 
ble pleasure there can be in feeling small and 
weak passes my comprehension.” 

“That is because you have never felt large 
and strong, perhaps, with the consciousness 
of independence. But you don’t know your- 
self, Sylvia. Honestly, now, does it give you 
no pleasure to confess an inferiority to ‘A 
priori ’ 1 ” 

“ Of course it does. I love him ! ” 

“Then I suppose I love man collectively, 
for I like to feel his power over me. There is 
no hope for me, darling ; you will have to give 
me up.” 

But Sylvia was lost in thought, and a smile 
was curving her lips. Happy Sylvia ! 


CHAPTEE IY. 

“ For such a sunken soul what room in Heaven ? 

For such a soaring soul what place in Hell? 

Can these desires be damned, these doings shriven ? ” 

Noble. 

It was a very difficult thing for Yera to face 
the household after that night, the end of which 
she and Sylvia had spent in serious conversa- 
tion, until dawn coloured the curtains. That 
Sylvia had been justly down upon her, she con- 
fessed ; indeed, she had expected nothing else, 
and loved her friend the more that she severely 
censured her conduct. 

Sylvia’s happiness was somewhat dashed by 
this disappointment. She wanted her friend to 
be the character she had made of her to herself, 
and it was a blow to find that she was of that 
very ordinary material from which are made 
our frail women. All the same, she had no 
idea of letting Yera go, and saving herself from 
the contamination of a weaker spirit. She had 

( 53 ) 


54 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


never felt herself “ large” or “ strong,” it is 
true, because she had never thought much 
about herself at all ; but now she knew she 
possessed elements of nobility and strength in 
her character sufficient to stop a gap where a 
flood might break in. That Vera was powerful 
in her brilliancy of mental calibre and her tal- 
ents, in her ability to carry through all she 
attempted, even with insufficient means at her 
disposal, she knew ; but that she was strong 
where Vera was weak, she also knew. There- 
fore, without hesitation, she elected to lend all 
her support to Vera. Perhaps she was stronger 
even than she recognised in putting by her 
girlish elation over her own new love-story — 
the very first romance that had come into her 
life — in order to study the aspect of Vera’s 
position. 

She awoke next morning with two impres- 
sions upon her mind : That she must be pre- 
pared to face the commonplaces likely to be 
offered over her engagement, and the re- 
proaches possible to her friend, with equal 
calmness. Vera pleaded headache, and did 
not go down to breakfast. 

The first to join Sylvia, who was sipping 
coffee with a disinclination for food which be- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


55 


trays mental disquietude or emotional excite- 
ment, was, of course, Gordon. What he said 
need not be chronicled, but a noticeable de- 
gree of primness distinguished Sylvia, that 
she declined to be lured into the warm sun- 
light out of doors by him, until she had seen 
most of the guests downstairs. 

“I am so sorry about Mrs. Dalton,” were 
almost the first words Mrs. Grant said when 
she came in from watering her plants, to find 
a large party of consumers seated round the 
table. Sylvia felt her heart stop for a mo- 
ment, as one of the girls, who was laughing 
and talking with the “Bounder,” asked — 

“What is the matter? Is Mrs. Dalton 
unwell ? ” 

Every one stopped talking to hear the an- 
swer. 

“Yes, she is very unwell. It appears that, 
feeling rather faint, she went into the garden 
last night, and there lost consciousness alto- 
gether. Luckily Captain Dalton was on the 
spot, and he carried her in to her room. I 
did not know anything about it until this 
morning. You can tell us more particulars, 
Frank,” turning to the lad, who had finished 
breakfast, and was pretending to look at a 


54 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


never felt herself “ large” or “ strong,” it is 
true, because she had never thought much 
about herself at all ; but now she knew she 
possessed elements of nobility and strength in 
her character sufficient to stop a gap where a 
flood might break in. That Vera was powerful 
in her brilliancy of mental calibre and her tal- 
ents, in her ability to carry through all she 
attempted, even with insufficient means at her 
disposal, she knew ; but that she was strong 
where Vera was weak, she also knew. There- 
fore, without hesitation, she elected to lend all 
her support to Vera. Perhaps she was stronger 
even than she recognised in putting by her 
girlish elation over her own new love-story — 
the very first romance that had come into her 
life — in order to study the aspect of Vera’s 
position. 

She awoke next morning with two impres- 
sions upon her mind : That she must be pre- 
pared to face the commonplaces likely to be 
offered over her engagement, and the re- 
proaches possible to her friend, with equal 
calmness. Vera pleaded headache, and did 
not go down to breakfast. 

The first to join Sylvia, who was sipping 
coffee with a disinclination for food which be- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


55 


trays mental disquietude or emotional excite- 
ment, was, of course, Gordon. What he said 
need not be chronicled, but a noticeable de- 
gree of primness distinguished Sylvia, that 
she declined to be lured into the warm sun- 
light out of doors by him, until she had seen 
most of the guests downstairs. 

“I am so sorry about Mrs. Dalton,” were 
almost the first words Mrs. Grant said when 
she came in from watering her plants, to find 
a large party of consumers seated round the 
table. Sylvia felt her heart stop for a mo- 
ment, as one of the girls, who was laughing 
and talking with the “ Bounder,” asked — 

“What is the matter? Is Mrs. Dalton 
unwell ? ” 

Every one stopped talking to hear the an- 
swer. 

“ Yes, she is very unwell. It appears that, 
feeling rather faint, she went into the garden 
last night, and there lost consciousness alto- 
gether. Luckily Captain Dalton was on the 
spot, and he carried her in to her room. I 
did not know anything about it until this 
morning. You can tell us more particulars, 
Frank,” turning to the lad, who had finished 
breakfast, and was pretending to look at a 


56 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


paper. His face flushed scarlet as she went 
on, “You were with Mrs. Dalton when she 
fainted, were you not ? ” 

By some strange instinct his eyes met those 
of Sylvia, and he felt in her steady gaze an 
agony of entreaty. 

“Yes, I was there,” he said, as indiffer- 
ently as possible. “Mrs. Dalton thought she 
would like to go out, as she found the room 
hot ; but we had not gone far when she stum- 
bled and fell. Captain Dalton w r as smoking 
out there, I expect, and he came to my assist- 
ance, so that together we brought her round 
a bit, and got her indoors. I hope she’s 
better.” 

Sylvia gave a long silent sigh of relief. 
Her friend was safe. And before the conver- 
sation had progressed farther, Captain Dalton 
himself came into the room and sought Mrs. 
Grant. 

“You will forgive us for running away,” 
he said; “but my wife is anxious to get 
home, as she doesn’t feel in very excellent 
form, and she does not wish to be a care on 
your hands. You know she is very delicate, 
and just now”— At his pause Mrs. Grant 
protested. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


57 


“Oh, I am so sorry! I must go and talk 
to Marian ; she must not leave me like this, 
and I am sure she is not fit to travel.” With 
this she bustled out of the room, leaving Dal- 
ton a prey to solicitous inquiries. 

Sylvia dared not look at him. He was 
too utterly hateful in her eyes. She dreaded 
lest he should see in her face what she was 
thinking of him. There was suppressed ex- 
citement in the air, which all felt without un- 
derstanding. 

Then some unfortunate person inquired — 

“ And is Miss Grace ill too? Where is she 
this morning?” which was followed by a mo- 
ment of dead silence before Sylvia answered — 

“She has a headache” (oh, what would 
women do without that everlasting head- 
ache?), “and has not slept very well, so I 
persuaded her not to get up yet.” 

“She probably feels the after-effects of her 
spill,” Dalton said, speaking with a greater 
drawl than ever. 

A curious feeling came over Sylvia for a 
few seconds. She fancied, in a sort of trance, 
that she got up, faced him, and said, “You 
liar ! ” in a loud voice ; then sat down again. 

For a few moments the fancy was so real that 
5 


58 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


she was bathed in confusion. But then she 
knew it had been a chimera, and that all that 
had really happened was a murmur of assent 
from those around, who agreed that a trap- 
accident sufficed to account for Miss Grace’s 
indisposition. 

Again Sylvia’s eyes met Frank Thorold’s. 
He rose with a beckoning look, and went out 
of the French window into the rose garden, 
whither Sylvia presently followed him. 

“That takes the cake, I think,” remarked 
the boy Vera called the “Bounder” to the 
pretty girl by his side. “If I were Gordon, 
I wouldn’t stand having my mash taken off 
like that, don’t you know.” 

“ What do you mean, Mr. Forsyth ? ” 
asked the girl, with a laugh. “Do speak 
English.” 

“Oh, come now, Miss Lily, you under- 
stand, so don’t pretend to be so sappy. What 
do you think about Mrs. Dalton and Miss 
Grace now? Is the good lady waxy, do you 
suppose? and has she been tearing down the 
lovely Yeronica’s back hair? The captain’s a 
bit of a bounder, isn’t he ? and he’s been com- 
ing it a little too strong lately. I don’t won- 
der at Mrs. Dalton doing a faint, just to bring 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


59 


him round a bit. What ? Suppose we go out 
in the garden and see what Frank and Sylvia 
are up to.” 

- Frank and Sylvia were walking close to a 
quaintly cut box hedge in earnest confabula- 
tion. Gordon, who was watching them from 
the window, thought he had never seen his 
serious little Sylvia look more serious, and 
nearly cracked his head wondering what it 
was all about. To be jealous of Sylvia, now 
that she had confessed her love for him, was 
a flat absurdity, but he did not much care to 
see her lay her hand on Frank’s arm with that 
touching expression of confidence. 

The first words Frank had said when she 
joined him were — 

“ Sylvia, do you know anything about last 
night ? ” 

“ Yes, I do,” she answered instantly; 
“and I am so very grateful to you, Frank, for 
saying nothing about Vera this morning.” 

He threw back his head with an uncertain 
sound. 

“What could I say? It is no concern of 
mine if Miss Grace likes to let herself down 
and shame herself and you. For your sake, 
of course, I wouldn’t help scandal ; but 


60 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


I’m jolly disgusted all the same, I can tell 
you.” 

“ Yes, I know. But you must try and 
think the best of her, Frank. Captain Dalton 
is very fascinating to some girls — and ” — 

“ Sylvia!” he stopped her short and turned 
round to look at her. “ Is it you talking like 
that ? 'Making excuses for a woman years 
older than yourself, who ought to know bet- 
ter ! Shall I tell you what Yera Grace is ? 
She’s a fast, deceitful, thundering bad lot ! and 
not fit to be your friend. You ought to turn 
her out of the house. Why, I saw her myself 
with ” — 

Sylvia interrupted him quickly. 

“ I don’t want to know what you saw,” she 
said; “ and you must not speak thus of my 
friend. You are mistaken in her character. 
And even if you were not, I should stand by 
her always, because I love her.” 

Her words awoke an echo from him, 
and, as if unable to prevent himself, he burst 
out — 

“ And so do I, Sylvia : worse luck ! ” 

She stared at him, and then broke into a 
short laugh. 

“ See the difference between a man’s love 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


61 


and a woman’s,” she said : “ you love her, and 
can say nothing bad enough about her.” 

He was silent, and his face fell again. 
Such a jolly, healthy, boyish face on his six 
feet of manhood. 

Then Sylvia laid her little hand on his arm, 
and spoke to him more gently. 

“We both love Yera, therefore we must 
both be her true friends, and try to help her 
to do what is right. You don’t know how 
miserable she is, Frank.” 

He bent his head lower. 

“ She has made a fool of me,” he said, 
carrying his hurt vanity carefully. “ She 
laughed at me, and then takes that brute’s 
kisses” (with emphasis). “ I thought she was 
an angel almost ’’(with a laugh), “and now I 
feel as if I hate and despise her when I think 
of what she has done. You cannot under- 
stand, Sylvia. You are too innocent, and 
your feelings are not wounded as mine have 
been. You can’t know how a man feels when 
he sees the woman he loves handled by a 
beast like that Dalton.” 

He was not twenty, certainly, but he was a 
man now, and Sylvia did not dream of smiling 
at his words. This small crisis (was it small ?) 


62 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


in his life had stamped out the boyhood, and 
he spoke like a manly man, eloquently, and 
without his habitual slanginess. How curious 
it is that we should be most correct in our 
phraseology when we let ourselves really go in 
a moment of great excitement ! 

“I do know — I can guess,” Sylvia said: 
“but you must not think, Frank, that Vera 
has made a fool of you. In her heart she 
likes you and honours you a thousand times 
more than that man who” — 

She broke off. 

“Then why the deuce — Excuse me, Syl- 
via ” — 

There was no time for more, as the 
“Bounder” and Lily girl came up at the 
moment. 

“We beg to challenge you to a game of 
tennis,” said the former; “so look sharp and 
get your shoes, and that swagger hat of yours 
with the -big brim, Sylvia, so that we can all 
get under it when we’re hot.. Don’t back out. 
You must amuse your guests, and I’m one of 
’em. Hurry up ! ” 

But Sylvia saw a pair of deep eyes, shaded 
by disfiguring glasses, gazing wistfully at 
her from the window, where lounged a tall 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


63 


slight figure in a grey suit, smoking plain- 
tively. 

So she answered, with the brightest of 
smiles and blushes — 

“ But you’re not my only guest, Lionel, and 
as I’m just engaged to Mr. Gordon, I think, if 
you don’t mind, I would rather go and talk to 
him than play tennis.” 

These words were uttered on her way to 
the window, so she did not hear the whistle 
to which both the boys simultaneously gave 
vent. 

Then, “Gordon’s a lucky fellow,” said 
Frank, and disappeared in deep dejection. 
He had been devoted to Sylvia ever since his 
short-coat days, and had never swerved from 
his allegiance, not even for Yera. Only with 
Sylvia he had always felt so young, and with 
Yera so very much more of a man. She had 
the art of drawing people out, and loved boys 
for their frank adoration. 

Later on, when the carriage was at the door 
to take the Daltons to the station, Sylvia was 
not to be found. 

“Where is the child?” asked Mrs. Grant 
anxiously ; “ does nobody know ? ” 

Then one of the girls said — 


64 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“ I think you’ll find her at the far end of 
the paddock with Mr. Gordon, Mrs. Grant. 
She went away about an hour age.” Every 
one laughed. The carriage had disappeared 
through the lodge gates with the Daltons, and 
the friends who had assembled on the doorstep 
to say good-bye had been made aware of the 
state of affairs by the girl called Lily. 

It was obvious that Mr. Gordon had not 
obtained the parental sanction yet. 

Half-vexed and half-puzzled, Mrs. Grant 
turned towards the paddock. “ I must go and 
find them,” she said. 

Sylvia, seated on a horse-trough of ancient 
build, looking up at her lover, who leant 
against a tree, saw Mrs. Grant, fair, warm, 
and serious, coming towards her, and ran to 
meet that dear person. The clover blossoms 
hardly felt her feet, that danced over them so 
lightly. 

“Mother, dear, we were just coming to 
look for you,” she said ; then drooped eyelids 
and waited for him to speak. 

“Mrs. Grant, I have such a heavy favour 
to ask of you and Mr. Grant that I am almost 
afraid,” he faltered. Even the brilliant and 
self possessed “A priori,” the eloquent lec- 


DUST AND LA DUELS. 


65 


turer and profound logician, faltered, and 
looked to Mrs. Grant to help him out. She 
glanced at him for a moment, and then 
laughed tremulously. 

u I am not going to answer. You must ask 
your favour of Mr. Grant. Sylvia must talk 
to me. You know she is vowed to Somer- 
ville.” 

Sylvia laughed, and he laughed. Somer- 
ville seemed very far away just then. They 
all three walked back to the house together. 
Yera, coming downstairs, paused on a landing 
to see through an open window the three lov- 
ing, happy, faces, iridescent with the light 
that can only mean one thing. A quick spasm 
of feeling drew her hand to her side, where 
she probably fancied dwelt her heart. 

“Oh, how happy, how horribly happy they 
are ! ” she thought, in a sudden agony of self- 
pity. “ Why should it never have come to me 
like that ? Can it ever come ? And what is 
all the rest of the world worth without it — 
Garry % ” 

The name in her thoughts caused her to 
turn hot and tremble. “And I don’t deserve 
it,” she continued to herself; “that is true. 
I don’t want what I don’t deserve, what I have 


66 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


not earned. Let me only be strong, and make 
my life valuable, not worthless. Ah, Mrs. 
Marsden ! I did not see you. I’m better, 
thanks very many. It is only my head. I 
suffer a good deal from it sometimes. Nerves, 
I expect: only it’s weak and effeminate to 
have nerves in these advanced days.” 

She wore a clean white gown of flimsy soft- 
ness, and her face was coloured by recent 
thoughts. Her dark eyes glowed softly, and 
she was soon plunged into warm and earnest 
conversation with the lady in question, who 
was in distress over a letter she had just re- 
ceived from home, saying her little girl was ill. 

4 4 Whatever faults Miss Grace may have, 
she is a kind and sympathetic creature,” that 
lady was heard to say afterwards. 44 Do you 
know, she actually offered to go straight off to 
London and nurse Gladys when I told her I 
did not quite trust my governess ; and I be- 
lieve she meant it too.” 

Vera had meant it. For the time she even 
longed for Mrs. Marsden to accept her offer. 
To nurse a sick child would have done her 
sorry conscience good. 


CHAPTER V. 


“ Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven 
As make the angels weep.” — Shakespeare. 

The luncheon sun had begun pouring its 
heat-rays down upon two very hot and moist 
young men. Frank Thorold and Lionel For- 
syth, who had been playing single sets for the 
last hour or so, sought relief from the fiery 
blessing under an elm skirting the courts, 
which ran alongside of the short avenue lead- 
ing to the lodge. From the mound of raised 
grass under the dining-rooms, which formed a 
sloping terrace, came the sound of voices in 
high and low keys, with often a ringing laugh ; 
for there sat Yera with little court, as was 
her wont. 

“ Miss Grace seems to have got over her 
fright,” said the “Bounder,” wiping his brows, 
and taking in a long breath ; “ she is as lively 
as ever, and sending Mr. Grant into fits, as 
usual. What jolly good fun she is ! ” 

( 67 ) 


68 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“ Do you think so ? ” 

Frank’s mouth, set very hard as he said this 
with studied indifference. 

“ Do I think so ? By Jove ! What do you 
think % ” 

To this was returned no answer. 

“I thought I should have died,” he went 
on, not stopping to notice Frank’s silence, 

4 ‘when she informed Mrs. Montague Cockle- 
box yesterday that it was necessary to write 
rubbish if you wanted to please the aris- 
tocracy ; that all the culture was being mo- 
nopolised by the middle classes, and that the 
‘ upper ten ’ would soon have nothing left to 
boast of but high noses and big feet. It was 
too jolly lovely for anything, and knocked 
spots out of the old lady, whose daughters 
have the largest feet and noses in Great Brit- 
ain and Ireland ! ” 

“ Miss Grace is not generally so rude as to 
remark upon people’s infirmities,” said Frank 
sententiously. 

The “Bounder” stared at him, and took 
out a cigarette-case. 

“Wonder how long it is to lunch 
time ! Got a watch ? No. Have a ciga- 
rette, then. Tell you what, old chappy, you’re 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


69 


fagged, ain’t you? Shall we go and get a 
drink ? ” 

Frank intimated more cheerfully that he 
thought he would wait till lunch. 

44 My private opinion is, you’re really 
mashed on the fair Veronica, downright gone 
— blue-mouldy,” said Lionel, after struggling 
with a match, and getting a few ^consoling 
whiffs in return. 

“ Think so ? ” 

“I do indeed, old Johnny ; and you 
needn’t be so beastly grumpy over it. Any 
one can see she’s nuts on you, and now Dal- 
ton’s gone, you’ll be able to make all the run- 
ning. What a bally bounder that fellow is ! ” 
with vivid recollections of having been alluded 
to as “that Forsyth boy” by the handsome 
soldier. 

u Bah ! ” Frank threw away his cigarette 
before the ash had found time to whiten. 

4 4 You think you’re very clever, my dear boy, 
but you might give me credit for more sense 
than to fall in love with my grandmother.” 

44 Great Scot ! The Grace your grand- 
mother ! Who’d have thought it ! How aw- 
fully well-preserved, and how naughty of her 
to be a grandmother ! What rot, Frank ! 


70 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


She’s young enough for any fellow to flirt 
with. And what do a few years matter? 
They ripen a woman and make her charming. 
I hate your bread-and-butter school girls.” 

“ Too charming for me ! ” said Frank, with 
a snort. 

“Ah, I thought so. You’ve proposed to 
her, and # she’s refused you. Is there any 
chance for a Johnny ? ” 

Frank laughed. 

“You’d better try, my dear chappy. 
You’re older than I am by a few months, and 
perhaps she might prefer an attic with you to 
a cellar with me. We are both extremely 
eligible. I am likely to be at Sandhurst for 
another five years, and you at Cambridge for 
another two. By the time Miss Grace is fifty, 
if she will wait for one of us, we might fight a 
duel to see which is to have her, and the sur- 
vivor carry off the young and blushing prize ! ” 

Even while he spoke, Frank felt ashamed 
of himself. He hated to talk over Yera, but 
the subject fascinated him, and he talked 
against himself. 

“How eloquent we are when we’re in 
love ! ” sighed Forsyth. “ Now I couldn’t 
make a speech like that to save my life ! It 


DUST AND LAURELS. 71 

sounded as if fresh from the lips of the Grace 
herself. What did you think of Turnip-tops 
being scratched ? ” 

“ Beastly shame ! I knew there was going 
to be some hanky-panky. Stubbs told me it 
was in the air. Precious few things Stubbs 
don’t find out. A lot of fellows at our place 
were let in.” 

“ I just squeaked out by luck, or I might 
have dropped in pretty stiffish. Do you find 
any difficulty with your governor over oof? 
Mine’s a caution. He thinks I’m headlong for 
perdition if I ask for an extra fiver. You 
know what it is. A fellow can’t be for ever 
sweating over books, unless he’s a mug ; and 
there’s always something on for a Johnny who 
knows his way about. 5 * 

The conversation after this became more 
and more technical. 

Vera was looking very seriously at a line of 
dark firs behind the elms and beeches. 

“ If it’s really a question of survival of the 
fittest,” she said to Mr. Grant, who stood by 
the window-frame watching her with an 
amused smile (he always felt her to be one 
delightful joke), “ I should think the Radical 
must come up head first. Progress, that ‘ re- 


72 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


current curve,’ as some one calls it, seems to 
make its onward swoops with larger and 
quicker waves every century, as indeed it 
must do ; and soon change will he so rapid 
that we shall not have time for one glance 
round before, hey presto ! we are dead. In- 
deed, it appears like that to some of us now. 
Well, then, the man who can change fastest 
and develop new ideas the most rapidly, who 
is neck-and-neck with evolution, so to speak, 
must come in first in the race, and leave the 
good old solid Conservative far in the rear ! ” 

Mr. Ford Grant was a “good old solid Con- 
servative,” and he caught the sly smile from 
her lips with perfect enjoyment. 

“Then the man who can change his coat 
quickest is destined to be the conqueror of the 
future ? ” he said. 

“ Why, who can doubt it ? Even now pre- 
varication and vacillation have become one of 
the fine arts for a statesman to study. 1 The 
honourable member is misinformed. I did not 
say the honourable gentleman was a liar ; I 
merely said that in the course of the honour- 
able member’s career he had been frequently 
known to make inaccurate statements, which 
had always been proved to be wilfully false.’” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


73 


She imitated the raised tones of an imaginary 
politician speaking to his constituents, and 
continued: “‘And although it be true that I 
helped to throw out the Bill for the Collaring 
and Christening of Lost Bogs, yet I am not 
ashamed to say that, since this time last 
month, I have recanted my error ; and now, 
gentlemen, you may count upon my vote for 
every measure in which the Collaring and 
Christening of dear distressful Bogdom is con- 
cerned.’ ” This mock speech raised a laugh 
all round, in response more to her manner 
and expression than to the actual nonsense 
itself. 

“You can never be serious for very long, 
Miss Grace, can you?” asked one lady, who 
slightly suspected her, and who thought young 
women, by all proper canons, should not talk 
so much and so vivaciously before the other 
sex. It was bad form. 

“ Serious ! am I not stating incontrovertible 
facts of natural history ? Who is the man that 
rules his fellows? The one who adopts most 
completely and rapidly the very latest notion 
that has floated like a feather from the Sera- 
phim upon our whirling planet. I believe I am 

right, and the Seraphim simile represents the 
6 


74 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


intellect of the Upper World. Where is Mr. 
Gordon ? Oh, I forgot ! of course he is other- 
wise engaged. What is it we all love most, 
and that is most interesting to us ? Something 
novel, something apparently fresh! We are 
absorbed directly, and not ready to grasp it at 
once.” 

“ Unless our good old Tory principles for- 
bid,” struck in Mr. Grant. 

‘ ‘ The unfortunate see in novelty a chance 
of amelioration, and grasp it at once ; the for- 
tunate like the new sensation for the excite- 
ment it affords. Therefore, the ardent and im- 
pressionable Radical leads the running. He 
scents game ahead, and the rest follow. The 
game may turn out to be a withered leaf flying 
before the wind, or a cloud shadow— what mat- 
ter? By the time the good old Conservative 
comes puffing up, the whole pack is refreshed 
and ready'to start again after another chimera. 
What the populace likes is something to run 
after.” 

“And suppose, in running after the shadow, 
they have lost the substance, neglected useful * 
and necessary measures, and ruined the coun- 
try ?” 

“ Then Russia must step in.” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 75 

‘‘Russia! why Russia? The most to be 
avoided of all arbitrators, most men think.” 

“Most men make mistakes” (laughing). 
“No, of course not” (to a mild suggestion that 
women never did). “ Russia would step in and 
plunge us into a sanguinary war, from which 
we should emerge triumphantly, all one party 
— the English party ; no more Whigs and To- 
ries. We should find out our mistakes and 
our intrinsic grandeur. Then to build up again 
one harmonious whole.” 

“How about the waste of life ? ” 

“Ah! that you might lay on the Radical, 
if it would be any consolation. But your real 
true Radical would scorn to be affected by any 
such argument. He is too scientific, and meta- 
physical at the same time, not to be ready with 
any quantity of polemical sophistry. ‘ All life/ 
he would say ” — 

But what the real true Radical was likely 
to say in this predicament was destined to 
be lost to posterity, as a maid came out with a 
note and handed it to the animated speaker. 

Yera suspected, when she had time to 
think it over, that there must have been 
malice or mischief at the bottom of this ac- 
tion ; for the girl said, as she handed the 


16 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


missive to Yera, in tones aggressively loud 
enough to be heard by all present — 

4 ‘If you please, miss, Captain Dalton asked 
me to give you this, before he went away, 
and I forgot it till just this minute.” 

If one of the chimneys of the house had 
fallen upon her at this minute, Yera could 
scarcely have been more wholly taken 
aback. 

She felt a curious hot tingling all over her 
surface, as if the blood were trying to get 
through the skin. Absolutely struck dumb 
with dismay and shame, she had scarcely pres* 
ence of mind not to take the note and fly with 
all possible haste from the scene. There was a 
silence of a most awkward kind, and in Mrs. 
Grant’s ejaculation — •“ Captain Dalton ! ” — Yera 
recognised all the displeasure and birth of 
distrust she most desired to avoid. Sylvia’s 
mother had never belonged to that section of 
“smart” society which connives at, and mere- 
ly finds food for gossip in, doubtful behaviour. 
Neither she nor Mr. Grant had ever cared to 
cultivate the society of people who were re- 
puted to be the least trifle fast. There could 
not have existed a more innocent matron of 
forty -five than kindly Mrs. Grant, yet instinc- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


77 


tively she caught the scent of something un- 
congenial here, and Yera knew it without 
daring to look at her. Her heart ached to 
think how it would annoy her good friend to 
feel that suspicion of one of her guests was 
justified to the rest ; and she knew that the 
unspoken thought of every one present would 
naturally be “ Why should Captain Dalton 
write to Miss Grace ? ” And why, indeed ? 
She imagined herself to be blushing deeply, 
whereas, in point of fact, the colour had all 
faded out of her face, leaving her quite strange- 
ly white ; a wrong method of proclaiming in- 
nocence. Could she have known what was 
coming, — have been prepared in any way, — 
her histrionic adaptiveness might have been 
called up to meet this emergency. She could 
have taken the letter from the hand of the 
maid with a light jesting remark and no change 
of front. But now, struck dumb by this un- 
looked-for occurrence, and caught in the very 
flow of daring speech, she was thrown out of 
her composure most woefully. She took the 
note as if it were something that might bite, 
and, after holding it mechanically for a mo- 
ment, made as if to break the seal, then changed 
her mind and thrust it away in her pocket. 


78 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


She knew that to open and read it before them 
all indifferently, and invent some reason for 
his having written, would be policy ; but she 
also knew, with perfect certainty, that such a 
course was not open to her. She could not 
invent a lie to account for it. She must be 
alone to read it, and she trembled to think 
how excited she was inwardly by the sight of 
that bold handwriting, and the consciousness of 
romance. Her mind, after a moment’s blank- 
ness, became a complete medley. She knew 
that she was most happy and most miserable. 
Happy to feel her power over the attractive 
warrior, and to be the heroine of a wicked 
little idyll ; to drink in the sensation which 
her nerves and emotions loved in shocking 
and surprising the good people around her. 
Wretched in the consciousness of falling in 
esteem, of having been unable to hide her im- 
pressions, and of grieving one whom she had 
learned to love and reverence. She felt hor- 
ribly ashamed of herself too— of her silliness 
and sentimentality and weakness ; of her dis- 
graceful commonplaceness. 

But such complicated emotions as those of 
Yera at this juncture are utterly beyond de- 
scription. One can only say two seas were 


DUST AND LAURELS. 79 

meeting, and the waves of each were lost in 
the other. 

“Let me see: you were saying” — she 
turned to Mr. Grant with a fine effort of 
control. He was watching her face curi- 
ously. 

“ I was saying what a small thing will turn 
a lady’s mind from the subject in hand, and 
stop the flood of her eloquence,” he said, with 
the same amused smile, only diluted with 
some fresh ingredient which it would be hard 
to analyse. “You were talking politics, Miss 
Variable, and now a billet-doux has changed 
your current, and I don’t believe you even re- 
member where you were.” 

“ Oh yes, but I do ! ” Her quick under- 
standing leaped back over the breach. “ I 
was saying the Liberal of the Future — with a 
large F — had a victor’s career before him. He 
will quite reason away the steady-going old 
Tory of the pleiocene period until there is 
nothing left of him but his frown— like the 
smile of the wonderland ‘ Cheshire Cat ’ : 
after which, he, the Radical, will ruin the 
country in the best possible form, and after 
the best possible models, according to the best 
possible modern theories of his cult.” 


80 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“Then do I understand that your sympa- 
thy is not all on his side ? ” ^ 

“I? I am the most unpronounced of 
Radical Tories extant. I cultivate an im- 
mense fund of argument that will apply 
equally well on either side. As a rule, like 
the independent person in the story, I am on 
the side of the man with the big axe ! It is 
as well to be so. Until our muscles have been 
developed by a few generations of mental and 
physical gymnastics, we women cannot afford 
to despise the man with the big axe.” 

“ Do you refer to Mr. Gladstone ? ” in- 
quired a stout man on her left, who was an 
authority upon land, and a firm adherent of 
law and order. Yera laughed, yet a little un- 
certainly. It is astonishing how much sooner 
we obtain control of speech than we can 
master the laughing apparatus. A hen can 
chatter fast enough until she laughs with 
ecstatic elation over her new-laid egg, and 
then her voice goes off into a most hysterical 
whoop ! 

Vera’s laugh had such a queer ring at the 
end that she checked it suddenly. 

“I was not intending to be personal,? she 
said: “although, perhaps, the right honour- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


81 


able gentleman might serve well for illustration 
— a good many people have refuge under his 
axe. Don’t be angry when I say that there are 
attenuating circumstances.” 

The groans died away in the sounds of a 
most obstreperous gong, which at this point 
announced the welcome hour of lunch. In the 
distribution of seats Yera found herself next 
to the “Bounder,” who, still hot and desper- 
ately thirsty, cast longing glances at his empty 
glasses. 

“I believe,” he whispered to her in con- 
fidence, “I could swallow the Atlantic 
Ocean! Don’t be frightened if you hear 
me hiss when I begin to pour liquid down my 
throat.” 

“I will be surprised at nothing. Very bad 
form to be surprised, is it not ?” 

“Awfully bad! Thanks,” to the servant; 
then, sotto voce , “I say, Barnes, get me some- 
thing to drink quickly, before there’s an in- 
quest, there’s a good fellow. Nothing like 
being on good terms with the servants of a 
house, Miss Grace. ” 

“I agree with you.” Yera’s thoughts flew 
to the maid who had brought her Captain Dal- 
ton’s note, and she began vaguely to wonder 


82 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


whether he had neglected this excellent maxim 
unintentionally. 

“I always tell Barnes he’s a perfect para- 
gon, and it pays, I can tell you. Here he 
comes with a bottle of hock. I should prefer 
beer, but it wouldn’t do to say so. Now please 
talk to your next-door neighbour while I 
quench. I don’t want to shock you more than 
is strictly necessary.” 

“ A priori,” who sat on her other hand, was 
listening amused. 

“Has it ever occurred to you,” said Vera, 
turning to him, “to compare the quantity of 
liquor consumed by man in proportion to that 
consumed by woman % I have often speculated 
upon whether, if one could reduce man to the 
same amount of fluid as we drink, and then 
train ourselves to drink as much as your sex, 
whether, I say, we should become the masters 
of creation ; in short, whether all this addi- 
tional liquid does not go to help generate muscle 
and will power % What if it be not a question of 
sex or education at all, but merely of habit \ ” 

He laughed. 

“Is there any subject under heaven or upon 
earth over which you have not speculated ? ” he 
said. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


83 


“ Plenty. I have never speculated upon 
horses the least atom in the world.” 

“Haven’t you?” put in the “Bounder” 
here, having scored against his thirst success- 
fully. “Why, I thought you were quite a 
sportswoman, Miss Gfrace.” 

“So I am ; although I neither hunt, nor 
shoot, nor bet. But there are different kinds 
of sport, you know.” 

He looked puzzled. 

“ I should like to see you on a horse, though. 
By Jove, you’d knock ’em in the hunting-field,* 
I know,” he said admiringly. “And you do 
ride, don’t you ? ” 

“Yes: hobbies of different kinds. I am a 
random rider and a reckless speculator, who 
knows no more about horses than about San- 
scrit ! ” 

“Ah! I know lots of fellows like that. 
They generally get let in, though. I advise 
you to chuck it, Miss Grace, before you get the 
worst of it.” 

“Before it chucks you, I suppose you mean 
to say,” ventured Gordon. 

“Yes. It’s no good dabbling in betting 
unless you are sure of your tips, and can use 
your own judgment, not a bit. Now, if you 


84 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


want a good thing for the St. Leger, I can 
give you a surety. What do you say ? ” 

“ Is it gloves ? ” asked Vera innocently. 

“Oh, anything you like. Do you want to 
make your fortune, that’s all? Because you’ve 
only to put a pot on a horse I could name. 
But what will you give me for the informa- 
tion ? ” 

“I’d rather have the mustard, if you don’t 
mind passing it,” said Vera, demurely shifting 
her eyes. 

“Will you give me that sweet little rosebud 
you’re wearing, if I promise to make your for- 
tune ? ” 

Vera looked at him. The temptation was 
too strong. 

“Yes, when nobody is looking,” she said 
under her breath. She looked up and caught 
Frank Thorold’s eyes. He knew by her side 
glance what was going on. 

“What an idiot I am ! ” thought Vera ; and 
for the rest of lunch she was very quiet, accept- 
ing the young man’s valuable information and 
polite attentions with as little sweetness as she 
could help. He was quite happy in showing 
off to Frank what a thorough “masher” and 
man of the world he was, and how even a lovely 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


85 


and queenly woman like Veronica Grace could 
not resist him. 

Lunch over, Vera, in hot haste to get to 
her own society, ran against the sporting 
youth, as he lounged out of the smoking- 
room. 

# “You haven’t given me the rose yet,” he 
said. 

“ Here ! ” Vera stood half-way up the stairs 
and looked over the banisters at him. She 
threw the bud into his hands. 

“ Thanks awfully ! You are delicious ! ” 

His eyes shone. The girl called Lily, com- 
ing into the hall just then, bit her lips and 
turned round. Vera saw her, and was sorry 
again. “What an idiot I am!” she said to 
herself once more. 


CHAPTER VI. 

* % 

“ Passions spin the plot. 

We are betrayed by what is false within.” 

George Meredith. 

Once in lier room, with the letter in her 
hand, Vera trembled again with excitement, 
hardly daring to open and read. She had fully 
intended to close the Dalton episode, and think 
no more than was necessary to repentance 
about the captain and his love-making. Now, 
with his note lying open, all the proceedings 
of last night rose up before her in vivid realiza- 
tion ; she felt the pressure of his encircling 
arm, and heard his warm, impassioned words. 

“I am obliged to take my wife away,” the 
letter ran, “as she saw, or heard, more than 
was intended for her last night ; and I am 
afraid she is likely to create a scandal, which, 
for your sake, I am anxious to avoid. But I 
must see you again, my dearest, as I am starv- 
ing for you, and lay awake all night cursing 
( 86 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


87 


fate, that prevented our meeting until now. I 
am going to Paris next week. Will you show 
yourself the brave, unconventional woman that 
I know you are at heart, and come too % You 
should never regret such a step, if you would 
only trust yourself to me. Let me have a line 
as soon as possible. I shall be dying to hear 
from you. — Yours ever, 

“Fordyce Dalton.” 

“My God, what a villain!” was her first 
inaudible ejaculation. 

“ Can I really have submitted myself to this 
— have laid myself open to such an insult of my 
own free will % Never ! There must have been 
a devil in it, somewhere, who transformed me. 
Go with him to Paris ! If I did, I would 
strangle him in my arms ! ” She laughed 
queerly, and held the letter at arm’s length, as 
if afraid of inhaling its superlative atrocity. 

Despite her sentimentalism and romanti- 
cism, her craving for excitement and pleasure 
in the breath of passion, she was really pained ; 
and, perhaps because of these characteristics, 
she detected instantly the lack of sincerity in 
the words she had just been reading, for she 
went on — 


88 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“And he does not even love me — not the 
least bit in the world ; if he did, I might feel 
less strangely — more disposed to pity him. 
But it is not love, and what is it ? Can it be 
the same mystery that drew me to his arms ? 
For most certainly I do not love him. O Gar- 
ry, Garry! forgive me. What does this man 
want if not my love ? What did I take from 
him ? What pleasure in his flattering words 
and caresses, when I neither love nor respect 
him? Excitement, romance, and the human 
contact that feeds a flame in one ! This hate- 
ful physical nature that underlies and under- 
mines our spiritual force, are we to be for ever 
slaves to it, or is this the last struggle of effete 
materialism ? ” 

In her thoughts the questions ran off rapid- 
ly, without stopping for any answer, which in- 
deed there could not be. She sat for hours 
torturing and analysing herself, while ever and 
uppermost came her old cry — “ Why am I not 
a better or a worse woman ? It would be more 
satisfactory to be positively bad and wicked, 
than negatively shifty, with an uneasy con- 
science, neither properly one thing nor 
the other — a grey mean between black and 
white!” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


89 


Then she recognised need for action, and 
sat down to her desk to write to Dalton. 

Her first letter was full of scorn. Her sec- 
ond was full of pity. Her third was full of in- 
difference. Her fourth was too metaphysical. 
Her fifth was too argumentative. Her sixth 
was too incoherent. At length she wrote — 

“You ought not to have written, but I 
blame only myself. I was mad last night, and 
so were you, but we must live it down, and re- 
solve to atone. My answer to your invitation 
is JVo, a thousand times over, if necessary. 
You have mistaken me, but it was my fault. 
Try to be true, or you will regret your infidel- 
ity to the last hour of your life. If we cannot 
be true, we are no better than beasts — worse, 
because a dog is faithful. Understand, I do 
not blame you, only warn. I am very miser- 
able and remorseful, and have lost my self- 
respect. — Yours sincerely, 

“Veronica Grace.” 

This she tore up, and then wrote it out 
word for word again. She put the envelope 
to her lips and sealed it firmly, just as Sylvia’s 
maid knocked at her door with a summons to 

afternoon tea. After copying the address Dal- 
7 


90 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


ton had given her, she put the letter in her 
pocket and went downstairs, intending to slip 
out before dinner and post it at the nearest 
village. This she found very difficult, as she 
was instantly seized upon by the ‘‘Bounder,” 
to play some accompaniments for him, which 
lasted till late in the afternoon. Feeling pro- 
foundly depressed, for it was impossible to 
avoid noticing the cold looks of her hostess, 
or to get a word with Sylvia, she managed at 
last to creep out and post her letter. Here 
her good fortune again deserted her, for just 
as she was putting the letter into the post- 
office mouth, she found herself face to face 
with Mrs. Grant’s maid, the same who had 
given her the note in the morning. Another 
piece of damning evidence, she thought to 
herself, as she coloured hotly, knowing well 
the girl understood her errand, and that it 
would lose nothing in her imagination. 

Dinner was a very trying ordeal that night. 
She was not hungry, but was obliged to con- 
ceal her lack of appetite for the sake of ap- 
pearances. To keep up her laughter and light 
talk as usual was well-nigh impossible, whilst 
she fancied every one was mentally scanning 
and scorning her ; and yet she dared not be 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


91 


silent. The letter weighed heavily upon her, 
and kept rising up, a very Banquo, before her. 
It seemed as though allusions to the Daltons 
were in the air, for nearly every one talked 
of Captain Dalton and his affairs generally. 
There was an unflattering tone in the com- 
ments upon him, although every one con- 
curred in praising Mrs. Dalton, speaking of 
her gentleness and acknowledged sweetness of 
character, which there was no denying. Yet 
Vera could not help wondering whether some 
of the remarks were not shafts aimed at her, 
for her hypersensitive vanity was all alive, 
and she was quite prepared to accept every 
compliment to Mrs. Dalton as a harsh criti- 
cism on herself. 

And the worst was to come in the draw- 
ing-room after dinner, when the ladies were 
alone. 

She approached Mrs. Grant, who had taken 
up some work (her fingers were never idle), 
and, sitting down by her, determined to try 
and win back the friendship and confidence 
which she felt she had justly forfeited. 

“Mrs. Grant,” she began tremulously, “I 
am so afraid you are vexed with me. I know 
what it is about, and I am so very sorry. You 


92 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


can’t be more angry with me than I am with 
myself.” 

She stopped with an ache at her throat. 
After a moment’s silence, Mrs. Grant said, 
as coldly as it was in her nature to speak — 
“Please don’t apologise to me, Veronica. 
You know your own affairs, and whether your 
conscience approves your actions or not. I do 
not expect you to understand my old-fash- 
ioned ideas. I am sorry to have been mis- 
taken in you, and hope your influence over 
Sylvia may not be to her disadvantage.” 

She could not possibly have said anything 
that would hurt Vera more than this. The 
tears smarted into her eyes, and she bit her 
lip with a fierce anger mingled in her pain. 

People seldom spoke plainly to Vera, and 
she could not bear it. She might criticise 
and censure herself, but none else must do so. 
Rising from her seat, she stood before Mrs. 
Grant and said, with very forced calmness, 
which she borrowed from her wounded pride — 
“If you think I am a bad companion for 
Sylvia, of course there is only one course to 
take. I will not force my contaminating 
presence upon you any longer than is quite 
necessary. I shall be able to get my boxes 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


93 


packed quite easily, by the first thing to- 
morrow morning ; so I will go and begin at 
once.” 

She turned to leave the room. Mrs. Grant 
rose and arrested her. 

“You must not take offence so easily,” 
she said contritely, for she was nothing, if not 
the kindest little woman in the world. “ I do 
not want you to hurry away ; I hope I have 
never said anything to turn a guest from my 
house. Don’t be hasty, Yera, but remember 
Sylvia comes first in all my calculations, and I 
have tried to bring her up carefully.” 

The struggle between hospitality and sus- 
picion in her tone was painfully apparent to 
quivering Yera, who was waiting on tension 
for more darts to pierce her. She had some 
difficulty in controlling her voice when she 
said — 

“I quite understand, Mrs. Grant. Please 
believe I don’t care to stay here if I have 
lost your confidence ; that is all. I have 
trespassed on your kindness quite long 
enough.” 

She made her way past her hostess into the 
hall and upstairs, where she indulged in the 
usual luxury of “ a good cry.” After that she 


94 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


began to pack, and was in the middle of that 
operation when Sylvia entered, bearing wine 
and cake. She looked amazed when she saw 
what her friend was doing. 

“Vera, what on earth are yon about?” she 
exclaimed. 

“ Packing,” said Vera laconically. 

“ What for ? You are not going away ? ” 

“Yes, I am, early to-morrow.” 

“What do you mean ? ” 

“Exactly what I say, dear;” keeping her 
red eyes in the shadow. 

Sylvia put her little tray down upon the 
table, and, walking straight up to her, put 
her arm round her shoulders. 

“But I say you’re not going away. I 
won’t have it. What reason have you for 
going ? ” 

“The good reason that I am no longer a 
welcome guest.” 

“ What utter rubbish ! ” 

“It is not rubbish, Sylvia, but quite true. 
Don’t you see how your mother and all your 
friends regard me? As a low, fast, adventur- 
ess, involved in a flirtation with a married 
man, who is unworthy of his lovely and virtu- 
ous and ill-used wife. Perhaps they are all 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


95 


right. Anyhow, I do not wish to defile yonr 
house by my presence any longer.” 

Sylvia only replied with — 

4 ‘You are the greatest goose I know.” 

She sat down on the bed and prepared to 
argue. 

“Because,” she said, “they talked a lot of 
gossip at dinner about Captain Dalton and his 
wife, you fancy every one knows what hap- 
pened last night, whereas” — 

“Every one knows I had a letter from 
Captain Dalton, left by him with a maid, who 
handed it to me before all the dowagers this 
morning. That is enough.” 

“A letter!” exclaimed Sylvia, astonished 
beyond measure. “Why, what did he say?” 

“Here it is ; you can read it,” was the an- 
swer. 

Sylvia read it through carefully, her mouth 
growing more and more scornful, and her eye- 
brows almost meeting. Yera thought of Mrs. 
Grant’s words, and wondered for a second 
whether she ought to have let Sylvia see how 
base a man can be. But, reflecting that such 
plumes would not suffer soil to cling, she did 
not really regret the action. Sylvia handed it 
back and said — 


96 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“ What answer have yon given ? ” 

“ What do you think ? ” 

“ Of course I know. But did you let him 
see how angry you were ? ” 

“I think so — that is, no. What right had 
I to be angry with him ? I told him I blamed 
only myself.” 

“Why should you? At least you were 
false to no one but yourself.” 

“And is not that enough? O Sylvia! 
don’t let me feel that in forgiving and con- 
doning my wrong, you are undermining your 
own standard. That would be indeed cor- 
ruption, and the most horrible thought I could 
have.” 

Sylvia was silent. 

“How morbid you are?” she said at 
length. 

Her clear, healthy spirit was puzzled again. 
Had she felt and known, as Yera did, the 
thing was wrong, she could not have done it. 
It was impossible to comprehend a being who 
could so divorce conviction and action that 
her ideal should be in the clouds, and her 
practice could not lift itself from quagmire. 

“Morbid!” Yera laughed bitterly. “I 
don’t think I am morbid, but only variable, 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


97 


as all shallow people are by nature. One 
moment I am off the ground, and the next 
wallowing. Now, a truly morbid person 
never flies in the ether of exhilaration, I 
fancy.” 

“ Nevertheless, you are morbid, and you 
are not shallow,” said Sylvia slowly. “I will 
not have it that you are shallow, Yera. You 
are sometimes too deep for me, I know, and I 
don’ t wish to think myself shallow. Perhaps 
if you did not expect so much from yourself, 
you would succeed better.” 

“Oh no, you are wrong. If I did not de- 
sire so much, I should get even less. But 
what is the use of talking \ I talk and write 
too much. The silent people are the most 
practical.” 

“Then let us leave off talking, and hang 
up your frocks again. I am not going to let 
you go.” 

“ I must, Sylvia. I have told Mrs. Grant ” — 

“Mother does not want you to go.” 

“ She does.” 

“Absurd! she does not. Why have you 
never worn this yellow gown \ ” 

“I fancied it did not suit me.” 

“Oh, vanity! What does it matter to 


98 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


yon, Vera ? it is yourself that can charm 
without any need of studying what is becom- 
ing. I heard Lionel Forsyth say only yes- 
terday that you could ‘knock spots 5 out of 
the younger and prettier girls. What did 
that mean, pray, but 55 — 

“That I know how to clothe myself better, 
and make the most of my waning charms, 
that 5 s all. Never despise dress, Sylvia . 55 

“I do. It seems such waste of time to 
think about what one puts on . 55 

“So it does . 55 Yera sighed. She was too 
depressed to argue. Sitting down by the side 
of the bed, she weakly watched Sylvia hang- 
ing up her gowns again in wardrobes and 
closets. Sylvia, placid, serious, and robed in 
white, was a very refreshing object to her, 
jaded as she was by nervous discord. As she 
ate the cake and drank the wine that her little 
friend had so thoughtfully brought her (hav- 
ing noted how little she ate at dinner), Yera 
began to feel better. After all, perhaps she 
had been morbid, she reflected, and what is 
the good of sitting down helplessly and moan- 
ing over one’s failings? But still she must 
go. It was necessary that she should quit 
these scenes of enervating pleasure (so she 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


99 


told Sylvia), and return to her scribbling. 
She felt choke-full of ideas just now, and she 
ought to be working at her craft, redeeming 
the promise of her first attempt in the realms 
of fiction. Full of undirected energy as she 
was, idleness ravaged and corrupted her. The 
place left empty by non-fulfilment of a daily 
task was a waste spot for evil to come and 
revel in. So she argued, with her usual 
pseudo-logical careless eloquence of expres- 
sion, emphasised in dark eyes and soft voice. 
But Sylvia persisted. 

“You shall write here. You shall have my 
little den all to yourself several hours a 
day, and no one shall disturb you, until we 
go” — (to Oxford) — “did I not promise you 
so % ” 

“You did; but I have not availed myself 
of your promise. Captain Dalton was metal 
that magnetised me from your little den. 
Sylvia, why am I such a fool as to be attracted 
by a red coat, or the shadow of one ? ” 

“My dear Yera, does it not sometimes 
occur to you that you are for ever asking me 
riddles without answers \ How can I tell you 
why a red coat, as you call it, should be an at- 
traction to you ? It isn’t to me. Are you sure 


100 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


it was the redness of the coat? Sometimes yon 
say it was something else, undefinable.” 

“ Yes, I know ; but the colour helps. 
There is something about a soldier that fires 
me through and through.” 

“ Because you are abnormally imaginative 
and romantic, I presume. It is all fancy. And 
with your gifts you ought to be above such 
rubbish.’ ’ 

“ Gifts ! what are my gifts, I wonder?” 
Yera laughed. How she enjoyed talking about 
herself! “An easy tongue, a quick pen, and 
a frothy laugh ; an ear for rhythm, and a talent 
for self-deception.” 

Sylvia looked grieved. 

“If you talk like that, you deserve that 
God should take away all your talents, — your 
power of conception, your splendid fancy and 
command of illustration,” she said gently. 
“Be earnest for a moment, Yera, and say there 
is nothing on earth you would take in exchange 
for these.” 

A quick change came over Yera’s mocking 
face. Something seemed to lift from it, and, 
as she raised herself, her eyes dilated with a 
strange flame, and her whole face became 
splendidly illuminated. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


101 


Her voice was deep with expression, and it 
was another Vera who broke the minute of 
silence. 

“ There is nothing I would take for my 
power — nothing. No, not even love ; though 
love is so sweet. How can I best coin myself 
into useful currency ? How best keep my light 
clear for others to see by ? How keep my lan- 
tern from dust and rust? You are right, 
Sylvia ; and I am not deceived. The light is 
there, but it has to struggle through such dirt- 
stained glass. O Sylvia ! if you should ever 
have a girl, never let her tread the road with 
weak and trivial companionship, as I have 
done. It avalanches character. Take care of 
your teens , the tys will take care of them- 
selves. No ; I am not laughing, but quite, 
quite sober.” And she meant every word she 
said. The mood continued till sleep overcame 
her. 


CHAPTER VII. 


“ Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, 

Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.” 

Beaumont and Fletcher. 

It was very early in the morning, before 
the sun had found time to make huge, blotchy 
shadows of the elms outside on the soft tnrf, 
when Sylvia heard a soft tap at her door, and, 
looking up drowsily, saw by the dawn-light a 
dressing-robed figure enter the room. Vera 
still slept soundly, as she always did when 
once in slumber. The mood-striven people 
always have that great consolation, — when 
once asleep, they are hard to awaken. 

“What is the matter ?” whispered Sylvia, 
alert on the instant, and recognising at the 
same time her mother. 

“ So sorry to disturb you, darling, but have 
you any sal-volatile ? Such a fix ! Green 
brought me my tea just now, and she said 

Grimson had been very ill all night, so I went 

( 102 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


103 


to her; and, do you know, I believe she has 
measles.” 

Poor Mrs. Grant’s voice was full of horror. 
Measles may be tragic enough when you have 
a house-full of guests likely to be panic- 
stricken. 

“ O mother ! ” Sylvia was out of bed and 
standing beside her. “What is to be done? 
Have you sent for Dr. Steward ? ” 

“ Yes ; but don’t come near me, Sylvia. 
If my. suspicions are correct, we must see 
about getting every one out of the house at 
once. I should like you to go too, as you 
have only had the complaint very mildly when 
you were a child, and it is dangerous to adults, 
I believe.” 

Sylvia’s pretty lips curled, as she made her 
customary remark — 

“ What rubbish ! Do you think I am go- 
ing away to leave you f You are more of an 
adult than I am, if it comes to that question, 
aren’t you % ” 

Mrs. Grant was too anxious to laugh. She 
looked to where Yera lay, sleeping peacefully. 

“ Your friend talked of going last night,” 
she said ; “so that is all right.” She thought 
to herself, it was an ill wind that blew nobody 


104 : 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


any good ; and perhaps Yera was, after all, 
more dangerous to Sylvia than measles. But 
she did not say this to Sylvia. 

4 4 Yes. I would not hear of it last night, 
but of course she must go now. Yera is one of 
those impressionable sort of people who are 
sure to catch everything.” 

Perhaps it was hearing her name men- 
tioned that aroused Yera at this juncture. 
She lifted herself from her pillow, and said — 
u What’s happened ? ” drowsily, with large 
eyes only half-open. 

“ Tell her, Sylvia,” said Mrs. Grant, going 
to seek in a cupboard for sal- volatile. 

“It is only measles, dear ; go back to 
sleep,” said Sylvia in a motherly manner. 

“Measles?” Yera was wide awake now. 
“ Who has it — them ? ” 

“ The parlour-maid, Grimson. It is only a 
suspicion as yet. We will hope it’s not true.” 

Yera sat up and pushed back her fair hair. 
“What an awful nuisance!” she said. 
“When shall you know for certain ? ” 

“ When the doctor appears — I hope soon,” 
said Mrs. Grant, going to the door. “You 
had better stay in your room, girls, and I will 
send up your breakfast. Then, if it should 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


105 


turn out to be measles, Vera can go straight off 
at once without any risk.” 

She did not wait for any reply, but closed 
the door after her and was gone. 

Vera began to dress quietly. 

“Does your mother really think,” she 
asked Sylvia, “ that we shall submit to be 
treated like children, and keep in our room to 
be waited upon, whilst she is worrying her- 
self to pieces? I, for one, protest. “Syl- 
via, I’m going to stay and nurse that parlour- 
maid.” 

“ What rubbish ! ” exclaimed the other. 
“ You’d be sure to catch whatever it was, and 
then we should have to nurse you too.” 

“ With all due respect to your prescience, 
dear, I am not sure to catch anything. I 
never caught anything in my life yet — not 
even a man ! therefore I am a most proper 
person for a nurse. And you, a delicate fledg- 
ling, are most unsafe. You had better go 
away at once. I shall advise Mrs. Grant.” 

“ Do be serious, Vera.” 

“ Never was more serious in my life. Is 
not measles a serious matter ? It spoils a 
complexion horribly, and what is more serious 

to a woman than her complexion ? Depend 
8 


106 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


upon it, Sylvia, I’ve found my vocation at last 
— it is to be a nurse ! ” 

The confusion in that house, after about 
four hours had passed, and the doctor’s verdict 
in favour of the infantine complaint had been 
given, can better be fancied than described! 

Panic in civilised society is much the same 
as it is in a horde of savages. Of course no 
one thought of any danger to him or herself, 
but each had some dear one whose life would 
be imperilled if he or she stayed in the in- 
fected area one moment longer than was 
strictly necessary. Every one, more or less, 
took to the bedrooms, whence came sounds of 
heavy trunks rolled about ; and the constant 
ringing of bells for maids constituted down- 
stair-life a burden. It is possible that one or 
two well-meaning visitors really thought it 
would be kindness to take themselves off 
quickly, now that their hostess would not 
want any further anxiety ; but they certainly 
did not consider that, to have taken matters a 
little less severely, so as not to have thrown 
the household into a state of disorder, might 
have exhibited a greater sympathy for her 
condition. Vera tried to help the most ex- 
acting, and ran about giving orders like a 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


107 


daughter of the house. Sylvia looked out 
trains and wrote labels, received condolences, 
and tried to keep the servants in good hu- 
mour. 

This last was not an easy matter, and more 
than one, driven to despair by fear of infection 
and constant bell-ringing, gave notice on the 
spot ! 

How anybody got any luncheon was a 
mystery ! It was the scratchiest of scratch 
meals, and several people went without it 
altogether, in order to catch trains. At five 
o’clock, the only people left in the house, be- 
sides the Grants themselves, were Frank Thor- 
old, Noel Gordon, and Yera, who sat down to 
afternoon tea with a comfortable sensation that 
the worst was over, and they could enjoy de- 
served peace. No one had been able to 
breathe for the last six or seven hours. Frank 
had been driving the dog-cart madly to and 
from the station all day, and “A priori” had 
done duty as an extra groom. Now they were 
all very merry over the non-intoxicating cup, 
and Yera was sending them into fits of 
laughter by her speculations as to the number 
of measles that had been carried away, and 
the quantity left for them to divide between 


108 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


them. A measle, she supposed, was a sort of 
microbe, a thing which she had heard of as 
possessing manifold possibilities, and now vast 
legions of those interesting atoms must be 
laughing up their sleeves in the trunks of the 
frightened ones. Her theory, she explained, 
was, that if an army of measles made its way 
into a house, it distributed itself impartially 
in all the corners, whilst the general tossed up 
to see who should be attacked first ! There- 
fore it was useless to try and escape. All you 
can do is to feed your own little internal army 
of disease-fighters well — to victual your garri- 
son with plenty of good air and nourishment 
— so that the enemy can be routed in your 
person upon the first onslaught. She con- 
cluded by declaring her conviction that there 
was a fearful struggle going on inside of all of 
them at that present moment, — a battle of 
bacilli, so to speak, — but that she had not the 
slightest doubt their own forces would con- 
quer. A measle is only a measle, after all, 
and you have but to make up your mind to 
be too strong for him. So she ran on, until 
suddenly, as if struck by an idea, she rose 
hastily, put down her empty tea-cup and dis- 
appeared from the room. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


109 


Stepping up-stairs as lightly as possible, she 
reached the sick-room, where she expected to 
find Mrs. Grant. 

“Come in!” said that lady’s voice, as she 
tapped ; and sure enough there was Mrs. Grant, 
very surprised to see her. 

“I’ve come to know if I can be of any use,” 
said Vera, with a lowered voice, as Mrs. Grant, 
at the same time, waved her back towards the 
door. “ I am not a bit frightened, and I should 
like to try my hand at nursing. Won’t you tell 
me what to do ? ” 

Her hostess looked at her critically, as if 
doubting the extent of her earnestness. What 
she read in Vera’s face need not be told. Suf- 
ficient to say that it satisfied her, and she said 
quietly — 

“ I may be very glad of your help in a few 
days if the case develops into a bad one, as I 
fear it will. At present, dear, there is noth- 
ing to be done, unless you will just sprinkle 
me, and yourself, with Condy before we go 
down. I suppose everybody who is afraid has 
gone ? ” 

Vera told her who were left, and she was 
rather astonished. 

“Frank Thorold ! ” she said, as they closed 


110 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


the door behind them, after a few words to the 
patient. “I wish he had gone. I am sorry 
that boy ever came here ; he seems to be get- 
ting very unsteady. Last night, I grieve to 
say, he came into the drawing-room much the 
worse for the wine he had been drinking. I 
told Mr. Grant to mount guard over those silly 
boys, but they are always so headstrong and 
wilful. Frank’s mother was a great friend of 
mine, so I feel an interest in him apart from 
himself. Now, if he were to take the infec- 
tion ” — 

“I don’t think he will,” said Vera, follow- 
ing Mrs. Grant to her room, where she pro- 
ceeded to make changes in her toilette. “ He 
seems physically strong, and he has been 
awfully useful all day, driving to and from the 
station. I am very sorry about last night. I 
did not know he was unsteady.” 

A sudden pang recalled his face in the gar- 
den the night he had kept her from Mrs. Dal- 
ton. Was this to be another conscience-blade, 
and smite her? Who would be guilty of the 
crime of breaking a boy’s ideal? Surely it 
were better a millstone were hanged about her 
neck ! she reflected mournfully. 

Mrs. Grant was answering her. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


Ill 


“ I never thought him anything but a good, 
steady boy ; but you know they get amongst 
all sorts of companions at Sandhurst, and his 
father being rich, I expect he thinks, gives 
him a reason for reckless living. I know he 
has run into debt several times, but I never 
heard he was addicted to drinking more than 
was good for him. Poor boy ! I hope he has 
nothing on his mind now — debts, I mean, or 
troubles of that kind. Although I have no sons 
of my own, I know the scrapes youngsters are 
likely to fall into, and can pity them.” 

Yera listened still guiltily. Every word 
stabbed her spirit, and although she was not 
religious enough to say, “ God forgive me if 
I have hurt one of the little ones,” she felt 
truly remorseful for any share she might have 
had in the injury of this lad who had loved 
her. She did not desire her conscience to 
forgive her. 

“If I do wrong, may my conscience im- 
peach me ! ” was the only prayer she was 
likely to utter. So she writhed a little, and 
then took comfort in her own suffering, as 
usual. 

She never had another cold word or look 
from Mrs. Grant during the weeks that fol- 


112 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


lowed, which were weeks of anxiety, as the 
maid had a very bad time. Added to that, two 
other servants fell ill of the complaint, and had 
it mildly. No one else caught it, fortunately ; 
and Thorold and Gordon left a few days after 
the rest of the company. 

Sylvia was very quiet and sad the day “ A 
priori” went. The rest of them thought the 
parting disturbed her, but it was not alto- 
gether that. The morning of his departure 
her lover had gone with her to one of those 
quiet corners of the garden proverbially dedi- 
cated to the amorous, and there they talked 
out a subject that had been agitating them for 
some time. 

It is a well-known fact that ] overs must 
have something to wrangle and make up over. 
These two were not superior to the weakness of 
their kind. 

Said Gordon — 

“ You see, Sylvia, as I said before, there is 
not the slightest necessity for my wife to be a 
Bachelor of Arts or a savante in any way. In- 
deed, I should prefer you as you are — not too 
blue, or with the critical faculty too highly de- 
veloped. And I think most men would agree 
with me.” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


113 


“Very likely,” said Sylvia promptly. 
“You know what I think about ‘ most men, 5 
Noel.” 

“But why are you so anxious to be my 
equal in learning ? ” 

“I never can be that.” 

“You can, but I hope you won’t. Let me 
have superiority in knowledge, as you have it 
in all other directions.” 

“Don’t blarney, Noel. You know I have 
set my heart upon becoming a cultivated wom- 
an. Why should you try to thwart me ? ” 

“Because, once more, I am not a rich man, 
and I want a wife who can manage my house- 
hold — for I hold domesticity the greatest, very 
greatest function of a true woman. I want her 
to be Queen of our little home-realm ; and not 
only that, but Prime Minister and Chancellor 
of the Exchequer. I wish to represent only 
Labour and Capital, and it will not be within 
my province to interfere with the Budget.” 
He spoke jestingly, but with earnest meaning 
behind. 

Sylvia knitted her fine eyebrows. 

“Then you think I couldn’t manage your 
house properly unless I remain an ignora- 
mus?” she said. “ Is that logical deduction, 


114 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


pray, and from what premises do you conclude 
as much? Is not a woman better all round 
for using her brains? Would a mathemati- 
cal pass certificate prevent me from keep- 
ing accurate household accounts ? Surely you 
have no ground for such an assumption as 
that ! ” 

“It is not that. But you know quite 
enough mathematics, and you are already 
capable of being a perfect wife, sympathetic 
companion, and capital manager. Why wish 
for more ? ” 

“Oh, you dear old goose!” cried Sylvia. 
“Why do you not say at once, ‘ You will have 
me for a husband, and you know enough to ap- 
preciate my cleverness ; is not that sufficient ? 5 
Have you considered for one moment that lam 
a nineteenth-century woman ? ” 

She drew herself up proudly. 

“A nineteenth-century child, you mean.” 

“ I am nearly twenty, and you ought not to 
want to marry a child. I gave you credit for 
more sense.” 

“Now you are getting severe.” 

“I must be. You are too exacting. Seri- 
ously, Noel, I do not consider that the one end 
and aim of a woman’s life is to get married ; 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


115 


and, having attained that, she is to let all other 
things go.” 

“But I detect a fallacy. You cannot say I 
ever admitted, a priori, that the one aim of a 
woman’s life was to get married.” 

“You implied it, sir.” 

“I did not. But let us grant, for the sake 
of argument, that marriage is an excellent 
sphere for a woman : will the mastery of Inte- 
gral Calculus, and ability to read Plato in the 
original, tend to make her a better wife and 
mother ? ” 

“Yes, most decidedly.” 

“Oh, very well. I give in. Because it 
does, I suppose.” 

“Exactly. Anything that widens a wom- 
an’s ideas, and takes her above the feeble 
trivialities of feminine life, ennobles her nature, 
and fits her more thoroughly for the most ex- 
alted career of wife and mother to which you 
have referred ! — prepares her to be the mate of 
a high-minded man ! ” 

“ By the 6 feeble trivialities of feminine life ’ 
I presume you mean dressing herself taste- 
fully, looking after her servants, and seeing 
that her husband is not poisoned by ilk cooked 
food?” 


116 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“I have never heard that to dress tastefully 
required an uncultivated mind. And as for 
food, she would share it with her husband, I sup- 
pose, and they would be poisoned together.” 

“ Don’t be flippant, little Sylvia. I detect 
more fallacies in your premises.” 

u Yes ; and you will go on detecting more 
and more, until I learn how to argue. Imagine 
the crushings I should get ! Every sentence 
of mine made a peg on which to hang a syllo- 
gism ! The very first thing I read, when I get 
to Oxford, shall be logic ! ” 

“ Learn how to argue. Ye gods ! To think 
of a wife who has mastered rhetoric and polem- 
ics ! Sylvia, kill me outright and have done 
with me.” 

“ There ! ” Sylvia exclaimed triumphantly : 
“ at last I have got to the root of your aversion 
for my studying at Somerville. You are afraid 
I shall crush you in argument. How lovely ! 
Now I am determined to go. It will be glori- 
ous to detect your fallacies ! ” 

She looked more animated than usual, and 
her soft eyes glowed darkly. He wanted to 
kiss her, but refrained, because he desired very 
much to finish the discussion, and knew oscu- 
lation would put an end to it. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


m 


“And you always say women are born 
illogical,” she continued, warming with her 
theme : “so you shall just see what education 
in that branch can do for me. I will quote old 
Aristotle at you till you cry for mercy, and 
then pursue you with ‘undistributed middles.’ 
You see I know something of the subject 
already.” 

“A great deal, apparently! You know 
quite enough, Sylvia. You can crush me with- 
out the smallest notion of logic or rhetoric, 
darling, if that is all you desire. Now I am 
going to shift my position a bit. Granting that 
you have a right to cultivate to the fullest ex- 
tent that nineteenth-century little head of 
yours, there is yet something else to be con- 
sidered. At the very least, you can do nothing 
at Oxford much under three years, and dur- 
ing that time I shall be waiting alone for 
you — a solitary, dejected bachelor. Can 
your tender heart suffer the thought of my 
distress % ” 

“Three years are nothing. I could not 
marry you for two years anyhow, until I am 
twenty-one : you know what father said. And 
as you say I am such a child ” — She broke 
off mischievously, with a laugh of enjoyment. 


118 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


He looked at her with eyes meant to be sorrow : 
ful. She laughed the more. 

“You know I was only joking,” he said 
seriously. “You are quite womanly enough, 
except for your unkindness, which is almost 
fiendish ! There is no reason why we should 
not be married the day after you are twenty- 
one ; and then, if you liked, I could ‘grind 
you up ’ for anything you wished, and I have 
no doubt you would get through with flying 
colours under my ardent coaching.” 

This sounded attractive, but it was so pal- 
pably a bait. 

“You would grind my bones to make your 
bread, like the ogre in the nursery-rhyme, I 
believe ! Ho, Mr. Noel ; I distrust you, sir. 
You have not the emancipation of women 
sufficiently at heart to undertake my mental 
training when we are married. Ho. I must 
work out my destiny by going to Somerville 
and reading hard. Then, in three years’ time, 
or so, when I am a full fledged graduate, you 
shall have what is left of Sylvia.” 

There was purpose under her smiling lips, 
and he knew better than to talk any more. 
But he was equally determined. Her victory 
in the discussion left her sadder than before, 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


119 


naturally. woman does not enjoy vanquish- 
ing a lover in argument ; she prefers to be 
beaten. } So that was why obstinate little Syl- 
via felt more depressed at parting from her 
professor than the occasion warranted, — more 
than if he had conquered her and made her 
promise to marry him at once. Such is the 
contrary inconsistency of the unemancipated 
girl of the period : only, fortunately, men have 
not yet quite found her out ! 


CHAPTER VIII. 


“ If thou must love me, let it be for nought 
Except for love’s sake only.” 

E. B. Browning — Translation. 

Two days later the morning post plunged 
Vera into a furious state of excitement. A let- 
ter came to her, forwarded from home, with a 
foreign postmark, at the sight of which her 
heart beat to stifling, and a flood of pink col- 
our ran into her face, lending her ten years of 
youth. 

She did not open it until her room was 
reached, and even then her fingers played on 
the seal nervously before the envelope was torn 
open. 

The letter was short. It only said that the 
writer was likely to come home at Christmas- 
tide, and hoped to find Vera as kind as she 
had ever been to him, for he would have a 
favour to ask of her, which he would not trust 

to a letter at such a distance, though she might 

( 120 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


121 


guess it. All he dared to hope now was that 
he should find her free, and that he had not 
been mistaken in concluding that she had some 
regard for him. It was unmistakable. The 
tone of an anxious lover breathed through it, 
as he wrote of his prospects, now more happily 
settled than formerly, and of his desire to rest 
at home in England for the future. About the 
letter there was the dash and flourish of a man 
accustomed to an unrestful life, and of not too 
stable a character, but this passed unnoticed 
by Yera. For she loved the writer: she loved 
the scrawl y, illegible signature of Garrick Mait- 
land, and, while knowing well the man, ac- 
cepted him with all faults clear to her well- 
opened eyes. 

The thin pages were wrapped round a pho- 
tograph, which gave an impression of a par- 
ticularly good-looking face, not very strong,- 
perhaps, but fair and dauntless, with a general 
look of insouciance and laughing disdain upon 
it. The lips curled upwards a little under a 
moustache not sufficient to hide their fine 
curves, and the closely-cropped hair showed a 
tendency to wave away from the forehead, 
which was broad and frank. You would say 

it was somewhat of a dandy there, from the 
9 


122 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


cut of the hair and the necktie ; somewhat of 
a fighter from the square of the shoulders ; 
somewhat of a dare-devil from the fearless eyes 
and straight throat ; somewhat of a voluptuary 
from the full mouth and rounded chin ; and 
nothing of a dreamer, an idealist, or a moralist. 
A man of action, or nothing. 

All this Yera knew well. She also knew 
he had played with her more or less for years, 
ever since she had been a silly school-girl and 
he a wild youth, mad upon pleasure and mis- 
chief. He had always shown affection for her, 
and even spoken of it, but had never attempted 
to bind her and himself by any promise that 
might involve self-sacrifice. She knew his van- 
ity made him fickle, and had power to draw 
him into toils which were hard to break from. 
She knew he had cared for her in a careless 
but jealous fashion for a long time, as much as 
he could care for any woman. She knew he 
was brave and honest and truthful, and hon- 
ourable according to a crude sense of honour, 
— not a sensitive one, — and that of all men she 
had ever known he had most completely sub- 
dued and fascinated her. That was enough for 
her, even with her great ideals and keen sense 
of what is noblest and best in the individual. 


DUST' AND LAURELS. 


123 


At all events, this letter offered her all she had 
most longed for, and yearned for, and ached 
for. 

It seemed the realisation of a hope she had 
scarcely dared to frame : and even had she 
known it would bring certain torture in its 
train, she would have hailed it and wept with 
delight over it, as she did now. Every other 
thought and sensation was chased out of her 
heart and mind by this prime emotion, as 
surely as dead leaves are dispersed by a hurri- 
cane. She threw herself on her knees with a 
vague idea of praying, but her nerves, all- 
excited by this suddenness of joy, played 
pranks with her, and made her only laugh and 
cry hysterically. Even when Sylvia came into 
the room, some hours later, to find her, she 
was too overcome to be coherent ; and, lest her 
friend should think she had gone mad, she 
handed her the letter to read. 

Sylvia hardly knew what to say. Truth to 
tell, she had not formed the highest opinion of 
Mr. Garrick Maitland from certain facts she 
had gleaned concerning him ; but now that 
Vera’s reality of feeling was so obvious, she 
could but congratulate her, and listen to her 
outpourings of happiness. 


124 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


Something about this phase of Yera jarred 
on her. That Yera could love a man so un- 
reasoningly, could bless her stars for giving 
him to her so tearfully, could let all other am- 
bitions sink in regard of him, and yet pould 
not have been true to him in his absence, 
seemed to her painfully unnatural. She never 
attempted to judge Yera by her own standard, 
looking upon her as subject to the strange 
aberrations of genius ; but she wished deeply 
that her friend were less imaginative and more 
reverent of what appeared to Sylvia to be 
sacred. Extravagance reached its highest 
limit in most of Yera’s actions under excite- 
ment. She seemed unable to do anything in 
the sane and self-restrained manner which 
Sylvia had learned to consider essential to 
right womanly and ladylike behaviour. Still 
the younger girl was touched by her friend’s 
unreserved delight, and looked forward to see- 
ing her whole nature purified and controlled 
by it, when she should have had time to grasp 
fully the situation and its responsibilities. Of 
course as yet there was nothing to be said or 
done in the matter, after Yera had written to 
Garrick a letter of suppressed passion and 
veiled contentment. This took her some time. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


125 


To give the impression of certain reserve, and 
yet to respond heartily and frankly, was a 
difficult matter to accomplish in a few pages 
of writing, and it is no empty compliment to 
say of Yera that no one could have achieved it 
better than she did. 

All the long summer afternoon she sat by 
her window, smiling at the bees and blue- 
bottles buzzing in and out of the clematis and 
roses framing it, with a light in her dilated 
eyes and a brilliant colour in her cheeks. Lost 
in lapses of happy thought, which led her back 
to scenes where Garry had been Strephon to 
her Chloe in the sweet, fresh heart of the 
country, she revelled in highest elvsium, 
scarcely feeling the weight of her environments 
at all. 

That she, the usually irritable and sensitive, 
smiled upon disturbing insects and the breezes 
which wafted her papers to the floor, was a 
sign that she had somehow got outside of her- 
self, and pin-points could not prick her. 

When the ring of teacups on the lawn be- 
neath, where sat Mrs. Grant and Sylvia reading 
slumberingly, funded on her ears, she roused 
herself from pleasant reveries to energy, and, 
pulling a rose from the casement, enclosed one 


126 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


petal in her letter and wore the flower at her 
breast,— a little sop to sentiment which gave 
her ridiculously childlike pleasure. 

Mrs. Grant remarked upon her beaming 
looks when she went down. Nursing, she said, 
seemed to have a good effect upon Vera : she 
looked most blooming and charming. Mrs. 
Grant supposed it was the consciousness of 
having been good and unselfish. She took 
Vera’s hand and caressed it as she spoke, while 
Sylvia poured out the tea and chatted inconse- 
quently to the solemn old terrier who wagged 
himself about the tiny tea-table. The scent of 
pines was in the air, and of blown roses and 
jasmine from the walls of the house. Alto- 
gether, there was an atmosphere of sacred 
peace and calm happiness enveloping them all, 
Vera felt, as she sank' into a low wicker chair, 
and smoothed out her flimsy skirts with a 
pride in their prettiness which she never lost. 
There was no uneasiness. She accepted all 
that had come to her without foreboding, not 
having given time to the analysation of her 
situation, or to moralise on the evanescence of 
human bliss, as she generally did. In trans- 
port one is seldom analytical, fortunately : so 
for a few brief hours Vera was perfectly happy, 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


m 


with no foreshadowing of dark clouds which 
might be gathering on the rim of her horizon. 
She had salved over the stinging wound in her 
conscience by some self-sacrifice, so that now 
it had ceased to trouble her. Indeed, every- 
thing was forgotten in this dazzling sunlight of 
fulfilled desire. She presented a smiling face 
and unlistening ear to all her hostess and 
Sylvia were saying. She gazed on the far blue 
of the sky with unseeing eyes, which only 
photographed one image on her brain. She 
laughed when she spoke, and drank two cups 
of tea without tasting them. In fact, she was 
just as idiotically, irrationally contented as a 
child who has cried for the moon and obtained 
a large orange. Sylvia studied her with much 
interest, and Mrs. Grant thought this curious 
condition was only one of her moods. 

Until the last post came in, and that re- 
quires another chapter. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“Our strength grows out of our weakness. The indigna- 
tion which arms itself with secret forces, does not awaken until 
we are pricked and stung, and sorely assailed.” — Emerson. 

Aftee dinner, Barnes brought Mrs. Grant 
a black-edged letter, whicb she received with 
some surprise after a glance at the hand- 
writing. The girls were at the piano, and Mr. 
Grant had not yet come in for his coffee. 

Vera was looking amongst the music for a 
song passionate enough to express the rarefied 
state of her emotions, when a slight cry from 
Mrs. Grant attracted attention from both girls. 

“ Sylvia, dear,” said her mother, in dis- 
tressed tones, “ come here. Oh, what do you 
think has happened?” Her voice was suffi- 
ciently shocked, to bring both of them to her 
side breathlessly. 

Sylvia took the letter her mother handed 
to her, and Vera looking over her shoulder ; 

they read it together, beside the yellow-shaded 

( 128 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


129 


lamp in the middle of the room. The light 
seemed to move curiously before Vera’s eyes, 
and a strange stillness settled on her nerves, as 
she read : — 

“Dear Edith, — I write to tell you that 
my poor child died this morning at half-past 
seven. Her baby was still-born, prematurely, 
and we knew from the first she would not have 
strength to recover herself. Captain Dalton is 
in Paris, as you probably know. It is his 
neglect and indifference that killed her. Do 
not judge me if I write bitterly, for I am 
broken-hearted. She was so sweet and good, 
my child ! 

“ You know she has always been delicate 
and sensitive. I guarded her till she married. 
He has played with her and tired of her : 
there was nothing could save her then. — 
Yours in terrible grief, 

“Emily Shorthouse.” 

There was absolutely no escape from these 
lines in blackest ink upon whitest paper. 
They burnt and burnt into Vera’s brain, until 
a mist before her eyes caused her to put up 
both hands to shut off the sight. 


130 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


Sylvia was too shocked to speak, and for a 
few moments there was horrible silence. 

“ Dead ! ” said Vera at last, as if speak- 
ing in a dream; — “ dead ! so soon, and she 
was well here a month, three weeks ago, 
quite well— and now dead, quite dead, and” — 
She stopped. Mrs. Grant was crying quietly, 
and Sylvia still looked dazed. 

A horrid vision overpowered Vera, and 
seemed to stop her heart-beats. She was in 
the avenue again, with Captain Dalton’s arms 
round her, and a white figure drifting towards 
them with a cry she could never forget. She 
heard it now as distinctly as she had heard it 
then, and the faint smell of cigar-smoke was 
still in her nostrils. She was stifled : it was all 
so real again. The white figure, w T ould it ever 
cease to haunt her with that moaning cry? 
W ould she ever be free from that loathed em- 
brace, or wash that kiss from her lips ? would 
the scent of that cigar cling to her for all 
eternity ? Or was it only brought to her 
presence just now by the entrance of Mr. 
Grant, and an actual cigarette ? As he stood 
on the threshold, Vera slipped past him out 
into the hall, thence into the garden, with a 
wild longing for darkness. But when the 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


131 


cool air of the night and fragrance of pines 
swept over her, she was seized with an un- 
speakable fear. She dared not face that ave- 
nue, lest there should truly be in it a white 
figure with a deathly face, and lest she should 
hear again, not in fancy, that cry of a 
wounded heart. She was haunted by the in- 
visible, and should her thoughts take bodily 
shape in the materially visible, she felt it 
would be only just retribution on her. Like 
to all sceptics, she was vaguely superstitious. 
She would have said that she distrusted her 
own vivid power of imagination, which might 
play tricks with her ; but, in reality, she 
knew that as she believed little, she dreaded 
much. That which might not be also might 
be. It is the practical, positive person who 
knows what to fear, and acknowledges no 
chances in the matter. One moment in the 
darkness Vera’s skin tightened with a cur- 
dling horror, and she flew upstairs with ve- 
locity, to the refuge of her lighted room. Her 
hands were trembling so that they almost re- 
fused to serve her, but she was unsatisfied 
until every candle in the room had been kin- 
dled, and a soft radiance shed into every cor- 
ner. She dared not be alone in the darkness, 


132 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


which, at the same time, her shamed spirit 
demanded. 

As usual, when there was light in the room, 
she drifted to the long looking-glass, curious 
to study herself from the outside : and thus 
she apostrophised the tall figure before her. 

“ A murderess ! ” she kept saying, over and 
over to herself; “yes, distinctly a murderess, 
and an adulteress too, in the spirit of the 
term.” She set her teeth hard with the objec- 
tionable word behind them. “ Why are such 
things as I suffered to exist ? Helplessly poi- 
sonous and harmful, to prey upon our kind. 
I am a snare and a delusion, even to myself, 
for my soul ” (her lip curled at the word soul) 
“has to do that which my body likes, and all 
my best and noblest ideals are like foam on 
the surface of a troubled sea ! Great God ! — 
if there be one — am I to live all my life with 
this frightful thing staring in my face, with 
that cry in my ears, as a deadly punishment 
for an hour’s careless amusement and sensuous 
excitement \ ” She saw the eyes in the mirror 
glaze at the thought, and the hands clench 
themselves spasmodically. “ Is there no atone- 
ment to be made ? Am I to live with it over 
me — with my better self pointing and saying 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


133 


eternally, 4 You killed an innocent woman : 
you took her life — drew her life-blood from 
her, and went on eating and drinking sweet 
things over her body ! Horrible, too horrible ! 
Who are you, that you should have the rap- 
ture of love returned — the ecstasy of longing 
satisfied ? 5 ” Her eye fell on the table by the 
window, where she had lately written her 
answer to' Garrick Maitland ; and then — 44 Sup- 
pose it is only retribution coming swiftly upon 
me, and he will be as false to me as that other 
man to his wife.” Her mind conjured up scene 
after scene of treachery and infidelity — of 
Garry laughing at her passionate jealousy ; of 
other women, fairer, younger, and as careless 
and cruel as she had been. — 4 *I could not 
bear it!” she cried aloud; 44 1 could not 
bear it ! and yet, if there be any justice in 
the world, I must be punished. Ah! I dare 
not be happy — I dare not. I have no right 
to be. I must atone somehow — I must not 
be happy over her grave. Oh!” Something 
seemed to crack inside her head, and the 
glass swam before her, and floated away to 
the ceiling. She stretched out her arms with a 
cry, and fell on the ground half- fain ting, and 
grovelling unconsciously. It was as if her 


134 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


spine could no longer support this heavy 
weight of dishonour, to keep her “ upright 
and heaven-facing.” For some short time her 
bruised sense of right was numb, and she 
ceased from sensation. It was only when 
Sylvia came into the room at length, that she 
was roused back to life and sorrow. 

“Vera,” said Sylvia, “you must not take 
this too much to heart — you could not fore- 
see ” — 

“Don’t talk to me, Sylvia,” was the answer, 
given with a long, shivering breath. “I must 
not be condoled with. You must see me as I 
am and say nothing. Your scorn is better for 
me than your sympathy ; it will brace me to a 
trial of strength. Don’t speak to me, but let 
me think it all out.” 

All through the night she groaned and 
wrestled with herself, tossing and turning 
feverishly, with her head on fire and aching 
fiercely. Every painful picture that an im- 
agination so potent as hers could draw, was 
painted upon her consciousness in exaggerated 
colours. She saw the death-bed of the young 
wife and the broken-hearted mother. She re- 
called every feature of the former’s sweet, wist- 
ful face, her pretty smile, and gentle, friendly 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


135 


manner. How nice she had been to her, Vera, 
thought the penitent woman, with a fresh 
pang ; how she had echoed her husband’s 
invitation, asking Vera to go and stay with 
them when they were again settled ; how free 
from suspicion, and how sympathetic she had 
been! “If there’s justice on earth, I must 
suffer for this act,” Vera had said to herself ; 
but, to do her justice, she did not think of her 
own punishment at all now — it was only of her , 
the insulted wife, the delicate, sensitive woman 
who had been wronged. 

The same hateful sense of mystery was over 
it all ; the superstition of an evil possession 
having mastered her ; the curse of fate, the 
futile struggle of spirit against matter, — all the 
baleful spells of demoniacal influences seemed 
to her to have been arrayed against her. It 
was such a trivial thing — a kiss in the open 
air, under the moonlight, taken after protest, 
and helplessly, as she had thought. Yet to 
have this direful consequence waiting for it, as 
a wild beast to pounce upon a small prey— it 
was preposterously inordinate. Would not 
Mrs. Dalton have died under any circum- 
stances ? Had he never neglected her, or 
shown her that he was tired of her before 


136 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


Vera’s advent on the scene? Surely yes ; and 
the wife had been gradually losing her hold on 
life and its interests for who knows how long ? 
These sophistries * suggested themselves over 
and over again, but they had no power to sway 
the tender heart and clear reasoning of the 
troubled sinner. No. The facts were square, 
and, shave their corners as she might, square 
facts they remained. Captain Dalton might 
have been indifferent to his wife before he met 
Vera, but it was useless trying to ignore the 
fact that the wife was actual witness to a deed 
which indicated something more — nothing less 
than positive infidelity. How this had affected 
her she had shown pretty plainly by her faint 
in the garden. There was no getting over that. 
There was no arguing away the data of such 
evidence against the woman who had, as she 
knew perfectly well, tried her very best to at- 
tract and fascinate another woman’s husband. 
The disproportionate results of her conduct 
that had wreaked vengeance upon her did not 
vindicate the wrong done. So she suffered 
acutely, and felt through it all a sense of self- 
suffocation, of having been blindly drawn to- 
wards sin by some overwhelming occult force, 
which it had been useless to try and contend 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


137 


against. But with, the morning she partly 
recovered herself, and a new strength came 
with the light. She formed a resolution, 
which, however much it might lie under the 
imputation of extravagance, was yet conceived 
and carried out in full dispassionate purpose. 
Rising before the sun had looked through the 
curtains, she dressed and seated herself at the 
writing-table. The letter to Garrick, which 
she had written yesterday, and left till to-day 
to post, so that she might add to it any further 
expression of herself that might present it- 
self before the mail left, was torn up, and 
its fragments lay in a little heap by her 
elbow. 

“ I have received your letter, and under- 
stand it,” she wrote now in breathless haste, 
lest her will and resolve should fail her. “I 
have never cared so much for any one as for 
you, Garry, and I would give my life for you, 
willingly, but there can be nothing between 
us. I am not fit to marry an honest man. I 
have a deed on my conscience that forbids my 
ever being happy, truly happy again. Think 
the worst you can, and you will know what I 

am. You must forget me, and if you come 
10 


138 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


home, yon must not try to see me, for that 
would only hurt us both.— Yours always 
wretchedly, Vera.” 

She did not even read this over, but folded 
it and sealed it as hurriedly as she had written 
it. Then she put on her hat and hastened 
downstairs, where she was met by an aston- 
ished housemaid, and the old fat terrier who 
slept before the hall door. The former wished 
her good morning, and asked whether she 
wanted to go out, offering at the same time to 
unbolt the door ; the latter arose, shook him- 
self carefully, and lazily followed her into 
the garden. There had been rain in the night, 
and now the sun was making diamonds on 
patches of grass, as it made its way through 
the firs and elms from the east, all gold and 
rose-colour in its uprising. A heavy mist of 
tears clouded Vera’s eyes, and a stone was in 
her throat as she laboured along the avenue, 
gasping pitifully. One moment at the post- 
office she hesitated, then set her lips firmly, 
and thrust in the letter as if it had stung her 
suddenly. She drew a long breath between 
her teeth as she turned away, and walked 
back with a steadier step. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


139 


“Where have you been inquired Sylvia, 
as she re-entered the room. 

“ To the post.” 

Sylvia gazed at her, full of wild specula- 
tions. 

“ Have you been posting your letter to 
Garrick Maitland \ ” she said at length. 

“ Yes,” replied Yera, with a curious laugh ; 
“ I have posted a letter to him, but not the 
one I wrote last night. I have told him it is 
no good, Sylvia ; that I am an infamous wom- 
an, and he must think no more of me. It was 
all I could do. I dare not enjoy the happy 
life of which I have deprived another woman. 
There must be a sacrifice to atone, so I have 
burnt my love upon the altar.’ ’ Her voice 
broke. “It will be better for him. He is 
weak, and I am not strong enough to guide 
him. I will not drag him down. He shall 
marry a good woman.” Her breath stopped 
suddenly. Tears came into Sylvia’s brown 
eyes. 

“You are morbid — too morbid ! ” she cried. 
“You cannot mean it, Yera, that you will 
sacrifice him, your lover, like this. Think 
of the harm it will do him to lose faith in 
you ! It is not right ; it is theatrical and un- 


140 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


natural. What is done cannot be atoned for 
but by repentance and good resolutions prac- 
tised out. There is no blotting out harm 
done ; you can only keep the rest of the page 
clear. And you are not so much to blame as 
you think, because you intended no harm ; 
you only thought it an innocent flirtation, 
and surely motive must go for something.” 

“ Don’t, Sylvia!” Yera turned on her 
sternly. 6 ; I may be morbid and theatrical, 
and no doubt I shall change my mind and 
regret the step I have taken within twenty- 
four hours. But now I am wearing sackcloth 
and ashes, and I am right. No amount of ar- 
gument will turn a square into a circle. My 
weakness has led to another woman’s misery 
and death ; it shall not doom another indi- 
vidual, and I will not triumph in joy over a 
victim. There is a time to pull up. We do 
not live in the age of scourges, but I can well 
understand the comfort of flagellation just 
now.” 

There was a fanatical light in her face, and 
Sylvia saw that it was useless to say more. 
She therefore only sighed deeply, and won- 
dered once more at the mixture of tragi-roman- 
ticism and nineteenth-century realism in her 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


141 


friend ; at the same time admitting that her 
own simple structure would not furnish a solu- 
tion to such a problem of personality as was 
presented by Yera in her different aspects. 

“ She is a compound of Cleopatra and Elec- 
tra, who has found her way into our century, 
and is rather lost in it,” reflected the girl, 
momentarily. Then her practical mind sprang 
back elastically to the surface of events. 
“ But she is wrong to rush off at a tangent 
into such an extreme measure. Yes, she is 
morbid and theatrical, and I do not know what 
is to be done.” 


CHAPTER X. 

“ On Tom Tiddler’s ground. 

Picking up gold and silver.” 

Nursery Rhyme. 

A tall young Englishman, very lightly 
clothed, and crowned with a broad-brimmed 
hat, sat outside a slightly-built wooden hut, 
near Zoutpansberg, smoking and turning over 
the leaves of a mining journal. Perhaps it is 
unnecessary to mention that he seemed inter- 
ested in mining and gold shares, as the ac- 
cident would necessarily have been his having 
no connection with either. The young man 
in the Transvaal, disconnected with gold and 
mining generally, does not face one every day. 

The Englishman was handsome, with a pair 
of fearless grey eyes, set well into his head, 
under somewhat girlish eyelashes, and a some- 
what girlish white brow, which contrasted 
curiously with the strong tan of his cheeks 
and chin down to the edge of his over- turned 

( 142 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


143 


open collar. It was something the face of the 
photograph Vera had received over in Eng- 
land, plus the roughness, and darkness, and 
general “ don’t-care-a-damn-ative-ness,” which 
becomes the habit of the usual young man 
away from the constraints of society and 
home, with a powerful sun over him, and 
nothing between him and his natural pro- 
pensity of flouting appearances. 

He seemed, as we have said, much absorbed 
in his paper, and sometimes his fine eyebrows 
knitted themselves at the sight of certain ca- 
balistic figures which signified to him possible 
falls in likely shares of which he was owner. 
Over the veldt the sun blazed still, though 
it was getting low in the heavens, and pre- 
paring for that sudden leap which leaves the 
southern world in darkness ; while the sound 
of a distant thud, thud, spoke of crushing- 
engines at work, and of sweating Kafir boys 
grinding at their daily toil. There was a gen- 
eral chirping and humming and whirring 
amongst the branches of the mimosa thorn in 
the near vicinity of the hut, where the birds 
and insects indicated their preparations for the 
journey into night. A large moon, as yet only 
faintly outlined against the deepening blue of 


144 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


the sky, was rising like an apparition over the 
thatched roof of the camp ; and there was a 
faint smell in the air of cooking buck, issuing 
from the quarter where an evening meal was 
undergoing preparation at the hands of a 
Kafir. 

Garrick Maitland read till his pipe went 
out, and then went to superintend the final 
arrangements for supper. He was not alone 
out there with the blacks and Boers ; but his 
chums were all at the Battery just now, and he 
was “ keeping house,” in conjunction with the 
office of meal-purveyor. He had supplied the 
larder with his gun earlier in the day, and now 
went to see that the “ stamped mealies ” were 
properly cooked, and everything ordered to 
prevent cussing and swearing when the rest of 
the household returned. When he came back 
again to his pipe and his seat, looking more 
than a little warm and equally cross, he caught 
sight of an object crossing the veldt to the left, 
and arrested himself in the act of refilling, to 
watch the approach of the boy who had been 
sent to fetch the mails. 

The mails ! Who can fully imagine what 
the word means to the exiled ? Pretty nearly 
everything that is sweet and smacks of civilisa- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


145 


tion probably. Garrick took the letters word- 
lessly (he would not have dreamt of a word of 
thanks to a native), and, after looking them 
over, said “ Damn ! ” so heartily that if it were 
not part of a Kafir’s creed to be astonished at 
nothing, he might have startled the youth 
who awaited orders. Then he thrust the let- 
ters into his pocket, and dawdled back to the 
house with the indifference of a Piccadilly 
dandy and his crossness doubly accentuated. 

For the fact of it was, the young fellow was 
just about as miserable as he could well be. 
Three months ago, or a little less, he had writ- 
ten the letter to Veronica Grace, with which 
we are already acquainted, and nearly a month 
ago had come her answer, which had been a 
terrible blow in the face to him. It is always 
pretty rough upon a fellow who has made up 
his mind that a girl loves him, and is only 
waiting for him to ask formally for her hand, 
when the lady turns her back upon him with a 
decided no. How much more so when the 
wooer is some thousands of miles away from 
her and can neither reason with her nor try the 
effects of tender cajolery ; when he cannot even 
flirt with another woman to bring her to her 
senses ! And the case was aggravated in Gar- 


146 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


rick’s case by these disadvantages, by his 
lonely position and not too luxurious life. 

Therefore, he chafed unutterably at his 
damnable luck, as he called it ; and the only 
interest he had left in life for some weeks was 
to watch for the mails on the chance of anoth- 
er letter from Veronica contradicting the first 
(a contingency he felt was possible from his 
knowledge of her character), or, failing that, 
some news of her from outside gossip. The 
letters that the mail had brought this particu- 
lar evening were all for his colleagues but one, 
and that exception he recognised as being in 
the handwriting of an old tutor of his who 
wrote to him occasionally. 

It was a scholarly hand, and as Garrick’s 
correspondents were mostly either business 
men or female cousins and aunts, he naturally 
concluded this to be from u old Sinclair.” So 
he did not trouble to open it at once, in his 
disappointment, and was ungrateful enough to 
utter the little word mentioned above, being a 
man, and, as we all know, on that account 
having no gift of inquisitiveness. 

By and by the other men trooped in. 
There were five of them, and they were all 
more or less grimy, hot, and blasphemous ; but 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


147 


this was nothing unusual. A meal restored 
their tranquillity wonderfully, and a smoke 
finished the business. By seven o’clock they 
were all as happy and amiable as cows in 
clover. The short after-glow of the sun had 
disappeared long before, and the lamp shone 
upon their empty plates and peaceful visages. 

Then Garrick drew out the letters and 
handed them round to their respective owners. 

“ Any news yourself, old boy ? ” asked one, 
less selfishly absorbed than the others, as he 
broke his seal. 

“Yes; one letter from old Sinclair. I 
haven’t opened it yet.” 

“Not from she then?” The fellow knew 
something about Veronica, though not the en- 
tire fact. 

“Not from she . I expected a letter from 
the Cape, but it hasn’t come.” 

“ Oh, drop it, Maitland ! You are not seri- 
ously thinking of enlisting.” 

“By Gad, I am. I’m d d sick of this 

life. Once in the Rifles, and there would be 
always some sport in the form of a row, and a 
chance of potting a Boer, which would be 
worth living for.” 

He rose and fished out a coat from a dark 


148 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


corner. The evenings were chilly at this time 
of the year, and he had been sitting, unlike the 
rest, in his shirt-sleeves till now. Across the 
thick smoke from the pungent and disagree- 
able Boer tobacco they were smoking, which 
gathered round the lamp, he saw contentment 
spread itself over the faces of his companions, 
and observed the sentimental expression which 
is the shade generally cast by home letters. 
One fellow, who had not received a letter, was 
strumming a banjo and pretending he didn’t 
care. 

It was no idle threat of Maitland’s that he 
intended to join the Cape Mounted Rifles. He 
had written to the colonel, and was expecting 
an answer daily. Vera’s letter had hit him 
harder than he would once have believed possi- 
ble. As a matter of fact, he was much more 
sure that he was in love with her now than he 
had been before her answer to his letter came. 
How he felt that he had only lived to marry 
Vera, and that there was nothing left for him 
to do but turn soldier, since she had thrown 
him over, prospects and all ! He had never 
dreamt of proposing to her until his income 
justified the responsibility, and defied any 
prospect of ultimate self-sacrifice on his part. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


149 


He had convinced himself, with the usual con- 
fused reasoning of selfish bachelordom, that he 
had been extremely honourable in maintaining 
a discreet silence with her as to the exact state 
of his feelings, although at the same time try- 
ing with all his might to gauge hers. It is fair 
to say it never occurred to him that his own 
dread of living uncomfortably and bearing 
responsibility had had anything to do with 
his waiting attitude ; and if such a thought 
had arisen, he would have promptly quenched 
it. Out here he could rough it ; but he was 
not going to live in a paltry house, in a paltry 
way, on paltry means, in England, which rep- 
resented to him a paradise of enjoyment and 
luxury. Of course, he was not going to drag 
Vera or any other girl down to penury, he said 
to himself, with all the inward inflation of the 
young person who once sat in an angle with 
confectionery. But at the back of this was 
the inward knowledge that Garrick Maitland, 
miner and “ prospector,” would never be able 
to exist in England without his club, his 
horses, and the entertainment of his friends 
royally — Vera or no Vera. And he never 
dreamt of married life out of England for one 
moment. 


150 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


The “ boy ” came in and cleared off the sup- 
per things. He was a tall black Kafir, some 
twenty-five years of age, with a comparatively 
intelligent face, and the usual deep, musical 
voice. They all treated him like a brute, of 
course, but not unkindly ; and being sworn at 
meant nothing to him. It was such an every- 
day occurrence, that it never even hurried 
him. 

“ Yoeksak — suka, you skillum, d — n you ! ’’ 
growled the man with the banjo, as the “boy,” 
whom they called Pick, got in his way to pass 
with some plates. A mixture of Boer and Kafir 
is no uncommon combination. 

“Longele, boss ” (all right, sir), grinned the 
native cheerfully, as if at a pleasant compli- 
ment, disappearing at the same time into other 
regions with a clatter. 

Garrick brushed a flying stinger from his 
face, and said irritably — 

“ You’ve jumped my pouch, as usual, 
Green. Wjiy the devil can’t you find your 
own ? ” 

Green was looking provokingly happy over 
a letter from his sweetheart, which was cer- 
tainly some excuse for Garrick’s ill-temper. 
The only answer, therefore, to his outburst 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


151 

was a sweet smile. Then he turned on the 
ban joist — 

“Can’t you take yourself off somewhere 
with that beastly row?” he asked. “The 
jackals w^ould enjoy it, I am sure ; it’s so like 
their own infernal howling.’ ’ 

“Keep your hair on, old fellow. You’re 
very kind ; but I prefer my present quarters. 
‘Music hath charms to soothe the savage 
breast ; * and I’ll hope to soothe yours, with 
time and patience.” 

“ Oh, patience be” — 

“ Why don’t you read your own letter 
instead of kicking up a shindy about noth- 
ing, Maitland, my dear?” asked the man 
called Green, who was in a lovely temper 
after his letter, and looked the picture of 
beatitude. 

Garrick drew out the epistle, yawned, and 
opened it leisurely. Perhaps he might as well 
read it, he reflected. In a minute his face 
changed, and he flung out a long and accentu- 
ated oath. 

“Well, lam .” 

“What is it? Somebody left you a for- 
tune ? ” 

It was Green who thus interrogated him 


152 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


with friendly interest. But he got no answer. 
In a minute — 

“I’m going outside ; it’s so cursedly hot in 
here,” said Garrick in a strange voice, and he 
left the wondering assembly abruptly. It was 
a very rare thing for them to wander about 
outside after the sun was set. In the first 
place, it was so cold at this time of the year ; 
and in the second place, they were usually too 
tired and lazy. 

The letter was from a girl, to Garrick’s im- 
mense astonishment, — for he looked at the sig- 
nature first, — and ran as follows : — 

“Dear Mr. Maitland,— You don’t know 
me ; but I daresay you may have heard of me. 
I am Vera Grace’s great friend, and I am writ- 
ing to ask you not to take any notice of a let- 
ter she has written you. I know something 
about it, and a great deal about her. She 
loves you ; and I believe, if you come home, 
she will be able to explain herself to you. She 
is thoroughly miserable now, and accuses her- 
self of sins that she is really innocent of. You 
mustn’t believe her. She is morbid and un- 
strung lately. Please do not let her know I 
have written ; and oh, do forgive her, and 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


153 


come home at once. She is such a dear, dear 
girl ; and I am so anxious about her future. — 
Yours very sincerely, Sylvia Grant.” 

u God bless Sylvia Grant ! ” ejaculated the 
young man, with a sudden spark in his eyes, 
and a lip that quivered under his yellow 
moustache. The hot red blood rushed to his 
bronzed face, and he felt half-ashamed of the 
throb in his pulses. “ What a jolly little girl 
she must be to write like that ! ” he reflected ; 
“ and what the deuce does Vera mean by it % ” 
{it referring to her conduct presumably). 
Then he pulled -himself together, and knocked 
the dead ashes out of his jApe. 

“Well?” asked the others as he en- 
tered. 

“ Don’t ask any impertinent questions,” he 
said, with that faint lisp and nervous, half- 
girlish laugh which made him so incongruous 
in his masculine strength and six feet of bone 
and muscle. “ Circumstances have decided 
that I start for the Cape on Saturday, en route 
for England.” 

“For England! The devil! Then you’ve 
heard ’ ’ — 

“Yes; I’m wanted. Where’s that con- 
11 


154 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


founded boy ? I want some more coffee. 
Then I’m going to turn in.” 

“How about the Cape Rifles?” inquired 
Green innocently. 

“Goto Jericho,” was the reply. And the 
others only looked at one another foxily and 
smiled. One said, when Garrick was not 
listening — 

“ Cunning old beggar ! said it was from 
his old tutor, and it was from a girl all the 
time ! ” 

“Not it,” said the one called Green ; “ he’d 
have opened it long before if it had been.” 
He spoke from the inward conviction of his 
private experience ; and the others laughed. 

“You’ll never bottom Maitland. He’s 
’cute as a wagon-load of monkeys,” was the 
oracular conclusion of the ban joist ; and after 
this the discussion was adjourned. 


CHAPTER XI. 

“ Steeped in sentiment as she lies, spreading her gardens to 
the moonlight, and whispering from her towers the last en- 
chantments of the Middle Ages.” — Matthew Arnold. 

The Michaelmas term was drawing to its 
close, and the students at Somerville awaited 
their various examinations with feverish anx- 
iety and excitement, such as no amount of 
“teas” and “ cocoas” could quell. Sylvia 
Grant was one of the worst affected, for, being 
her first term, it was likewise her first trial of 
strength, and she feared it terribly. 

At the thought of that ordeal the blood 
would seem to surge up to her head, and then 
back into its proper channels, taking with it 
all the nerve nourishment her spirit required, 
and making her feel lax and limp as a wax 
doll. Hers was the kind of organism that is 
intensely nervous without being imaginative ; 
consequently, when she did set herself before- 
hand to calculate possibilities of experience, 

( 155 ) 


156 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


the effect was devastating upon her equilib- 
rium. Women who, like Vera, live ever in an 
atmosphere of nerve-thrills, conjured up by 
their own abnormal phantasy, cannot know 
the gigantic force of a nervous dread inflicted 
by a healthy but over-strung consciousness. 

Sylvia’s mental disturbance was telling 
upon her more than she knew. She had tried 
to force into a couple of months an amount of 
reading that could only have been successfully 
grappled with in double or treble the time, 
with the usual results— confusion and ex- 
haustion. 

Now she sat at the window of her pretty 
little room with a paper of symbols before her 
that a few weeks ago would have given her 
little trouble. But the fresh matter she had 
accumulated was all jumbled up in her pretty 
head with other matter which distracted, and 
she wrung her hands in despair over her 
knitted brows. Here was a problem she 
couldn’t do, and probably next Friday, in Pre- 
lim., she would have others like it, but thrice 
as difficult ; while Noel Gordon was torment- 
ing her to marry him at once, and would smile 
pityingly but contentedly if she failed. It 
was maddening ! 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


157 


And this was not the last of her distrac- 
tions. There was Yera on her mind— Yera, 
who had come to Oxford with her, and (with 
an eye to freedom) taken rooms overlooking 
Magdalen Grove. She too was supposed to 
be reading for Schools, at the same time 
that she was working at her new tale, “Frac- 
tions” But how much reading and how 
much work did she accomplish \ Whenever 
Sylvia saw her, it was — “ Sylvia, I am going 
on the lower river with the Maxwells ; ” or, 
‘‘There is an organ recital at Christ Church, 
which I must hear ; ” and lately, with her un- 
fortunate propensity for attracting callowness, 
Yera had had a good deal of her time wasted 
by a youth named Lascelles. He was a cer- 
tain lord by courtesy, rather vacuous, strong 
of oar, and feeble of wit. There was no 
reasoning with Yera. 

“He’s ever such a nice boy, Sylvia dear,” 
she had said airily, when the Somerville girl 
had attempted an onslaught upon the new 
protege ; “just the kind I like ; not too know- 
ing, and thick in the muscle. I like ’em of 
that metal, you know. And really he has very 
nice manners.” 

It was useless to argue, Sylvia felt, so she 


158 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


let the subject drop. But in spite of assuring 
herself that Vera’s vagaries were of no impor- 
tance to her, she felt irritated by her friend’s 
deliberate waste of herself, her time, and her 
talent. 

Therefore, when Vera entered, as she did 
at the very moment little Sylvia was throb- 
bing over the mathematical problems before- 
mentioned, Sylvia did not rise with any 
pleasure to greet her. She represented a 
more tiresome problem than Euclid was ca- 
pable of. 

“ What do I care about ‘ spoxtnijQak ’ when 
I want to see my Sylvia % ” cried the intruder, 
embracing the student affectionately. “ It is a 
disgrace to humanity, Sylvia, that you should 
grind like this, with your cheeks getting paler 
and paler, and your eyes dropping into your 
head ! ” 

“ Heaven forefend?” ejaculated Sylvia pi- 
ously. “Keep your imagination for 4 Frac- 
tions ,’ Vera, and don’t waste it on inventing 
mendacious statements about me. I am per- 
fectly well.” 

“Fit as a fiddle,” said Vera, laughing. 

“If that is the latest morceau of slang from 
the Lascellian repertoire, I am not impressed 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


159 


by it,” said Sylvia severely. She did not like 
Vera’s state of merry content. 

“Dear heart, how it does loathe that poor 
boy ! But, really, Syllie, I’ve come to ask 
your advice. Can you give me a little consid- 
eration, or am I disturbing of equations \ ” 

“Oh, I can’t work any more to-day; the 
fog has got into my head. Talk away. What 
have you been doing since Sunday ? ” 

“ On the loose, dear. I have scarcely writ- 
ten or read a line. In fact, I’ve given up the 
idea of taking Prelim, this term. I’m too un- 
settled, and events tend to make me more so.” 

“ What do you mean ? Surely ” — she 
flushed, and went on excitedly — “you have not 
heard again from Garrick Maitland \ ” 

“No.” 

“Nor Captain Dalton % ” 

The brooding fear in the girl’s heart was 
that Vera would marry this man, whom she de- 
tested cordially, before an answer came to a 
certain letter she had written to Africa. 

“Captain Dalton! No.” Surprise could 
not have been less feigned than Vera’s. She 
had no idea what was passing in her friend’s 
mind. “Not quite that. In the first place, 
what should he write to me about ? ” 


160 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“To ask you to marry him, I suppose.” 

“Never. He will never do that. A man 
does not care to have his conscience outside, 
staring him in the face.” She laughed. “Be- 
sides, what difference would it make if he did % 
I would die rather than accept him, for the rea- 
son I have stated. You ought to know that 
much,” she ended reproachfully. All the 
life and light had gone out of her face by 
magic. The spot on her conscience was very 
sore still, though she salved memory by ac- 
tivity. 

“I do not see why he should not ask 
you,” persisted Sylvia. “He can’t have 
much conscience, and he must like you very 
much.” 

“ That is just where you mistake, dear. He 
never cared for me.” 

“Then why” — began Sylvia, puzzled as 
usual. 

“Because of something you can’t under- 
stand, dear daisy girl, and I can’t either, 
though I know it by touch. Can you imagine 
that one could love the clasp of a hand belong- 
ing to a man one feared and despised ? No, of 
course not. I can” 

“Oh, how mad you are! What nonsense 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


161 


you talk ! I wish you were more like other 
people, Vera ! ” 

“lam exactly like other people ; only that 
the great majority is a tongueless entity so far 
as expressing its sensations is concerned/ 
That’s all.” 

“ Was that what you came to tell me ? ” 

“No. I had almost forgotten. You know 
I had always a passion for soldiers, Sylvia ; 
and now, what do you think? It has given 
place to a mania for lords ! ” 

Sylvia clouded more and more. She knew 
what was coming. 

“All that rubbish means, I suppose, that 
Lord Lascelles is in the ascendant just now.” 

“Yes. It is so nice to talk to you, dear 
Sylvia ; your prescience forestalls all I have to 
say, nearly.” 

“ Can’t you be serious ? Oh, life is too ear- 
nest to be treated always as one continual joke, 
Vera ! ” 

“Do I treat life as one continual joke? I 
thought I was all melodrama, not farce ; but 
there is a very thin line between the two. 
Speaking collectedly, then — is there not 
something mysteriously attractive about a 
title?” 


162 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“I thought you were superior to such at- 
tractions, at all events.” 

“Dear, you don’t know me yet. In some 
moods I am superior to nothing, in others to 
everything. But you must confess 4 Lady Las- 
celles ’ would look very well on visiting cards, 
and a coronet become my classic brow.” 

“Have you had the chance of becoming 
Lady Lascelles ? ” Sylvia was interested. 

Te Vai! In a flash I saw a long regiment 
of persons who have turned up the physical 
and mental nose at me in past days, all wallow- 
ing dejectedly in the dust of regret behind me, 
whilst I sweep on unheeding. Charming pic- 
ture ! ” 

They both laughed. Sylvia caught the 
tone of self-scorn in the jest, and said no 
more. 

“But, despite the alluring prospect, I said 
‘No,’ and now I’ve come to know whether I’ve 
done well ? ” 

Sylvia threw herself upon her unhesitat- 
ingly. 

“You dear thing! of course you have. 
What a shame of me to doubt you ! You 
could not marry a shell of a man like that, — 
‘empty sheath of a man,’ as Browning says. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


163 


Why, he is nearly ten years your junior, and 
under age.” 

“Oh, that wouldn’t matter ! It isn’t that,” 
said Vera serenely, in the strength of her won- 
derful power to charm. I should not be afraid 
to marry a man ten years my junior. It is be- 
cause I don’t like him to touch me, Sylvia. 
The other night he kissed my hand (it was after 
I left you at the Union debate), and I felt as if 
I must kill him on the spot and trample on his 
body, somehow. It was a most uncivilised in- 
clination he aroused in me. Poor boy ! and 
I’m so fond of him.” 

A tone of mild regret pervaded this last 
remark, and Sylvia could only cry despair- 
ingly— 

“Oh, Yera! you are worse than algebra, 
Euclid, and arithmetic rolled into one ! Is 
there no clue to you ? ” 


CHAPTER XII. 


“ I fall upon the thorns of life, I bleed ! ” 

Shelley. 

That very week events came thickly upon 
the two of them, with the startling importance 
which always attends the unexpected. 

Two days after Vera had gone to Sylvia’s 
room to make confession, she was coming out 
of the Camera hurriedly, when it was dusk, 
and ran against a man at the corner of Cather- 
ine Street. She had been skimming Kant and 
Hegel for a couple of hours, till her brain 
reeled from fertilisation of the ideas in it, and 
she saw nothing outside herself for some min- 
utes. In “ Fractions ” she was introducing a 
superficial character who liked to be thought 
cognisant of mental science, and she had been 
reading for the necessary technical vocabulary, 
under pretence of studying for her “coach.” 
But the sense of these thinkers’ words had 
carried her beyond her purpose, into fields of 

( 164 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


165 


metaphysics, which had always a powerful at- 
traction for her. Therefore she was very far 
away from the crumbling, hoary walls of the 
holy city, and from matter generally, when she 
was brought back to Oxford by sudden contact 
with a fellow human, which pulled her up 
sharply under a gas-lamp. 

“I beg your pardon — very sorry really — 
Miss Grace ! is it you ? ” 

She saw the speaker was Noel Gordon, and 
was relieved ; for, with all her independence 
of character, she intensely dreaded submitting 
herself to a chance of careless impertinence 
from any loafing undergraduate. 

“ I am so glad to see you,” she said, put- 
ting out her hand. “ I’ve been to the Rad- 
cliffe to read, and the spirit of me had cut the 
material for a time, while I was with Kant and 
Hegel in the Shades. So I did not see where I 
was going. Would it be very hard to learn 
German ? ” 

“Why German? That you may read the 
Teutonic philosophers in their own not -to- 
be - easily - mastered - and - ever - to - be - regretted 
tongue, I suppose?” said the professor of 
classics, with the quiet scorn of a man who 
looks upon Latin and Greek as the only fit 


166 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


vehicles for civilised thought. He turned and 
walked beside her as he spoke. 

“Yes — once learn the instrument and the 
music is easy to understand. But life is so 
short — original information gratis — and I know 
scarcely anything yet.” 

“That is what we all feel,” said Gordon 
politely. 

He became aware that he had something to 
say to her, but did not know how to begin. 
For a few seconds they trod in silence that 
glorious “ High,” which the ghosts of history 
dispute with the living pedestrian, making 
their presence felt impalpably upon some inner 
sense — and which the glow of mediaeval ro- 
mance hallows and illuminates. Then Gordon 
plunged — 

“Have you seen Sylvia lately ? I am get- 
ting anxious about her.” 

“I’m not surprised. I believe that girl 
will fall to pieces through sheer hard work. 
Why don’t you stop it ? ” She looked up at 
him. 

He laughed a little savagely as he an- 
swered — 

“That is out of my power. Can you not 
use your influence ? I am convinced she is 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


167 


injuring her health, and that Mrs. Grant will 
be quite shocked when she sees her so white 
and thin.” 

“ I cannot think why she was so deter- 
mined to take Latin and Greek for her lan- 
guages,” said Yera. “ She knew nothing 
about them, and it was absurd to think she 
could do anything with them in such a short 
time. I find it impossible to get through with 
French and Latin, both of which I know a 
little. But Sylvia knew less even than I of 
Latin, and no Greek worth speaking of. 
Whereas she could have taken French or Ger- 
man easily.” 

Gordon did not answer. Probably he was 
thinking he knew the reason why Sylvia 
wanted most of all to master classics ; and 
if Yera had reflected, she would have known 
too. 

They had reached Yera’s rooms now, and 
she stood at the door of the house facing him. 

“ May I come in ? ” he asked suddenly, in- 
stead of saying good-bye. “ That is a cool re- 
quest, I know, but I want to talk to you about 
several things, if you can spare me a few min- 
utes of your time.” 

She was verily astonished, never having 


168 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


had much intercourse with this sapient young 
“ coach,” whom she fancied did not altogether 
approve of her as a companion to Sylvia. 
For him to outrage Mrs. Grundy, by inviting 
himself to call upon her, was undoubtedly 
surprising. She bade him welcome heartily 
enough, though, and led the way into her sit- 
ting-room. 

It was tiny, with a very low roof and a 
funny little square window with flowers grow- 
ing on a shelf outside, or rather apologies for 
flowers, of an evergreen nature. In the middle 
of the apartment was a small square table, on 
which stood a lamp of solid, unbeautiful work- 
manship, as yet unlighted. In one corner was 
a bookshelf fairly well stocked with literature 
of rather a miscellaneous description ; where 
Rossetti shouldered Mill, and Marion Craw- 
ford, Darwin, O. W. Holmes, and Ruskin, 
together with Aristotle and Ouida, turned 
backs on each other. An old-fashioned cot- 
tage piano stood flat against the wall by the 
door, and ran the corner of its keyboard into 
you when you entered. There was not room 
for a chair between it and the table, unless 
that article of . furniture was pushed close to 
the window ; and the cosy little sofa (of horse- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


169 


hair, it is true, but deep, low, and “ comfy”) 
lay so near to it on the left-hand side that you 
could not pass without a squeeze. A diminu- 
tive fire was burning, on which a little kettle 
sang merrily, and upon one half of the table tea 
was set for one. The other half was covered 
with books and papers in suggestive confusion. 

Taking off her hat as she entered, a large 
feathered felt of most becoming shape, and 
pushing up her hair with both hands, she 
seated herself by the table, and, leaning both 
arms upon it, looked across at Gordon, who 
had deposited himself on the sofa, and waited 
for him to begin. But first she asked — Would 
he have tea with her? No, many thanks; he 
had but a few minutes to spare, and would not 
keep her from her meal long. She looked at 
him, her smiling lips parted with interest, and 
thought how nice he looked. What a strong, 
clean-cut face and what earnest eyes he had ! 
Lucky Sylvia ! 

“It is not only of Sylvia I am going to 
speak,” he said, abruptly and awkwardly— 
“but of yourself.” 

“ Of myself ! ” she echoed, raising her level 
brows in surprise. “Now that is astonishing. 

Fire away ! ” 

12 


170 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


She had a curious fancy for slang, and 
with her low, caressing, and purely feminine 
voice such masculine phrases had a strangely 
incongruous ring, that rather attracted when 
it did not shock people. 

“When I introduced Lord Lascelles to 
you, Miss Grace,” — he dived at once, — “I did 
not suspect you of turning his not too brilliant 
head and 4 ploughing ’ all his chances of a 
pass. It is too bad.” 

He spoke with a slight smile curling his 
lips, but his eyes were serious as ever— more 
serious than ever. 

“Have I reduced him to the plough? 
Who says so? Please explain.” She lowered 
her eyes and tried to hide the upward turn of 
her mouth. 

“Oh, I know all about it. The man who 
has the misfortune to coach a youth like that 
in classics does not feel altogether cordial to 
any one or anything that distracts the said 
youth’s attention from the matter in hand. 
It is a colossal business to get anything at 
all into that head of his, even when he is 
really trying hard. What then must it be 
when his wits— or what he calls his wits— are 
w^ool-gathering ? ” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


1ft 


“ It must be awful,” Vera admitted 
candidly. “ But what has that to do with 
me ? ” 

“You know best. I hear rumours. I see- 
the young man distrait , obviously in love. 
The 4 gingerbread rabbit expression ’ comes 
on too often to pass unnoted. It is true, isn’t 
it, that he is your shadow ? I want a sincere 
answer.” 

“To be quite sincere, then, for the moment, 
— yes, I think he is.” 

Yera looked straight at him with a suspi- 
cion of defiance in her tone. 

“Thanks. I thought so. And his parents 
know too, goodness knows how ! I have had 
a letter from his mother, fearful of entangle- 
ments, and her dear boy’s susceptible tempera- 
ment. Won’t you let him off ? ” 

It was the wrong expression to have used. 

“What do you mean?” Her voice rose 
imperiously. “Let him off! Have I power 
to control him? Ho you think I hold him 
against his will ? ” 

“ Will ! ” said Gordon, with a short laugh ; 
“ do you really suppose such an invertebrate 
has a will f ” 

But Yera was angry now. There was too 


172 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


urn ch truth in his allegation for it to be 
palatable. 

4 ‘Is the Countess of Sarpenden afraid I 
shall marry her son ? ” she asked scornfully. 

“To tell the plain truth, I think she is.” 

“And then there would be ‘ructions,’ I 
suppose?” 

“ I don’t think you would find things made 
very pleasant for you, certainly.” 

“ Why, what would they do ? ” Yera asked, 
with a quick light in her dark eyes. 

“I expect the whole family would make 
itself extremely disagreeable, and say very 
unflattering things. You would be called 
artful, designing, and everything that is dis- 
reputable.” 

“That settles it. I will marry Lord Las- 
celles. I want a little fresh excitement. I 
have always thought I should like opposition 
to my marriage. What fun ! Yes ; I will 
marry the fledgling, and show the Earl and 
Countess the true ‘ grit ’ I am made of. I sup- 
pose they can’t disinherit him ? ” 

“You will have to wait till he is of age, 
you know,” said Gordon, not taking her seri- 
ously. 

‘ ‘ Of course. It will be easy enough to 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


173 


hold him till then if there is contradiction, 
which love feeds on. That will complete ar- 
rangements.’ 5 

“You might marry something better than 
a fledgling,” said Gordon, with a sudden real- 
isation of her magnetic force, as she stood 
there flushing and paling, with uncanny light 
in her strangely-coloured eyes, and deep voice 
vibrating. 

“You are wrong. I might not. I never 
attract the best. I am not good enough, or 
bad enough, or pretty enough, or ugly 
enough, or silly enough, or clever enough. 
Besides, it would be better to marry a man 
one had not idealised, for fear of disappoint- 
ment.” 

“ How about his disappointment, should 
he idealise you % ” asked Gordon, wanting to 
go, yet unable to tear himself from her pres- 
ence. 

“ Oh, there is no fear of that with our 
fledgling. So long as I am jolly, and domi- 
neer over him, and dress well, he will be satis- 
fied.” 

“You do not take into consideration that 
he is only a half- developed man.” 

“ I will develop him.” 


174 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“You are not in earnest, Miss Grace ? ” He 
began at last to take alarm. 

“ I am quite in earnest.” 

“I will not believe it.” 

“You will see.” 

“I don’t want to cease to respect you.” 

“Have you ever respected me? This is 
news I ’ ’ 

At this moment, her landlady, with an eye, 
possibly, to propriety, tapped at the door, and 
asked Vera whether she would not have her 
tea, for which she had provided some delicacy. 
Gordon rose to go. 

“I feel sure you cannot mean what you 
have said,” he declared, on taking leave. 
“You would have ceaseless regrets, and — 
well, I know you have too much pride and 
self-respect to place yourself in an equivocal 
position. Thank you for granting me this 
little interview, and forgive my presumption 
in speaking to you of this matter. Good- 
night.” 

“Good-night. Don’t tumble down the lad- 
der,” she called after him, as he stumbled 
down the crooked little staircase in the dark. 
Then she came back, threw herself full length 
on the couch, and laughed mirthlessly. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


175 


“Yes, I’ll marry him,” she said to herself. 
“He is a mere metazoon, lacking a soul to be 
hurt by me, and his name will give my designs 
some advantage. Money and leisure are useful 
too ; power lies behind the rubbish and sham 
of society conditions. If I cannot give it to 
Garrick, why should I care who is master of 
the husk of me ? And I could not marry Gar- 
rick. I could not bear his disappointment. I 
dare not risk it. Neither have I any right to 
be happy in that way. No ; my remorse would 
eat me up if I did not carry some kind of 
barbed instrument inside my garments next 
my skin. So I must make the best of things, 
and congratulate myself on risking no fall of 
ideals. Thus I marry Lascelles as a safe in- 
vestment ; no hazard of prize or blank— just a 
business barter.” 

She ate very little, but drank tea furiously. 
Her face burnt and her eyes shone. “Now to 
write to him,” she murmured to herself. The 
papers were pushed aside to make room for 
her writing-case. 

“My dear Lord Lascelles,” she wrote, 
“I have changed my mind, and I think if you 
ask me again, I may conclude to marry you. 


176 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


I feel honoured by your proposal, and am 
afraid I treated it too abruptly, but I was so 
surprised by it. Don’t expect too much from 
me. You know I wade in ink. Of course I 
can’t marry you until you are of age, and ex- 
pect you will find some opposition in your 
family. If it should be very strong, you must 
give me up ” (artful touch). — “ Yours very 
truly, Veronica Grace.” 

“ ‘Yours very falsely,’ it ought to be,” she 
reflected cynically. “Poor boy, what a shame 
it is ! and how I loathe him ! Probably I shan’t 
marry him at all. But yes, I will, if I possibly 
can. Hundreds of women marry men they 
don’t care for ; it can’t be very hard when once 
the will is set like an alarum, to run down only 
when the time for escape is over.” 

She could not settle down to her papers 
again. Kant and Hegel, with the terminology 
of metaphysics, had flown far into the back- 
ground of her thoughts. She was all actuality 
now, feeling life racing in her veins as it seems 
to do in moments of excitement, and her chords 
were all strung up to the strange music of emo- 
tional disorder. 

Opening the cracked piano, she sailed out 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


177 


into song as a refuge from her confused medi- 
tations. It was a passionate melody that came 
to her, with a quaint minor refrain ; some old, 
old words were wedded to it, and its very 
pathos was half-humorous : 

“ Love hath no ruth. 

His darts full sore with smarts endure, 

Poisoned in sooth. Death cometh to cure. 

Love hath no ruth.” 

The last two notes, with the wailing sound 
of a whole tone between them, died away on 
her lips, as the door was burst open unceremo- 
niously, and Sylvia entered. 

It seemed such an absolutely impossible 
thing for her to be there at that time in the 
evening, that Yera could only stare at her in 
amazement. 

“ 0 Yera ! ” she cried breathlessly, then 
hesitated. “ Don’t be frightened, dear ! Iam 
not mad, and there is no cause for alarm. I 
mean,” — as she saw her friend getting paler, 
with eyes into which terror grew, — “it is only 
that I have had a cablegram, — such an unusual 
thing, you know,— and I thought I must come 
to you at once.” She paused, and drew a long 
breath. 

“It is you who seem alarmed,” said Yera, 


178 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


putting her upon a seat. “ Now tell me quietly 
what it is, and how you managed to get here at 
such an hour ? ” 

“ Oh, I told Miss Marsden it was important, 
and she sent a maid with me. W e came in a 
fly. I had to come at once. Now, be calm, 
Yera, darling, for I bring bad news.” 

Bad it must be, Yera knew from her friend’s 
face. 

“For me ? ” she cried ; “for me? What is 
it ? what is it, Sylvia ? ” She did not know she 
was reiterating words in a choked voice. 

“It is from Madeira — read it.” She thrust 
the official white paper into Yera’s hands, 
which had begun to tremble fearfully. She 
drew nearer the lamp and read — 

“ From Garrick Maitland, Royal London , 
Funchal, Madeira, 

TO 

“Miss Sylvia Grant, Somerville, Oxford. 

“ Dying on way home. AsJc Vera to cable” 

A black shadow danced before her eyes, 
over her sight, and for a few seconds she saw 
nothing. Then her will seemed to give way, 
and she began to laugh, then to cry, feebly, 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


179 


stricken with the curse of her sex — hysterics. 
Water was fetched, and brandy. She heard 
Sylvia’s voice at a distance trying to calm her, 
and bits of sentences were floating about in her 
consciousness. 

“ No doubt much exaggerated. Very wise 
to cable to me, so as to lose no time, as he did 
not know where you might be — must be con- 
scious, and not so ill as he thinks — Vera must 
be strong and face the trouble — nothing so bad 
when you look it full in the face — overstrung 
— now leave off, or I shall be very angry — 
drink this— be quiet at once, Vera, or I leave 
you.” 

Suddenly the possession ceased ; by a vio- 
lent effort the possessed conquered it, and be- 
came calm and self-controlled. She rose and 
pushed back her hair, which had fallen loose 
in her excitement. 

“ Will you get me a time-table, Mrs. Mea- 
son ? ” she asked of her landlady ; then to Syl- 
via, “Do you think I can go soon ? ” 

“Go where?” inquired Sylvia, bewildered. 

“To Madeira. There may be time to see 
him. I cannot cable until to-morrow ; it will 
be too late to-night, I suppose? But I must 
go at once to London.” 


180 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


She was so supernaturally calm now, save 
for an occasional catch in the voice, that Sylvia 
felt even more frightened than before. 

“You can’t go to London to-night, Vera,” 
she said. 

“Yes, I must. I tell you I must , Sylvia. 
Don’t talk.” She caught sight of the note ad- 
dressed to Lord Lascelles lying on the table, 
and tore it up minutely. “ I had just written 
to tell Lord Lascelles I would marry him,” she 
said, with a strange relish for ironical contrast 
in the midst of her pain. “ What do you think 
of that, Sylvia ? ” 

They were waiting for Mrs. Meason to 
appear with the time-table. 

“You cannot mean it!” said Sylvia, 
shocked as her lover had been. “You told me 
you had refused him.” 

“I changed my mind. I decided to marry 
him — with Garry dying at Madeira. What an 
exquisitely absurd farce life is ! Garry dying, 
and I playing at love-making with a fledgling, 
a nonentity — and Garry dying ! ” The tears 
were in her eyes, and rolling down her face, 
but her voice was monotonous as she went on : 
“ I have played at cross-purposes with Provi- 
dence all my miserable, hateful life. I am 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


181 


tired of it now. I shall never play any more. 
How I have laughed and made a joke of it all 
—with Garry dying, perhaps dead ! God ! 
And I go on living and laughing, and not to 
know when Garry is dead ! What a fiasco of 
a world ! love a myth, matter triumphant, a 
coil of cable knowing more than spirit can tell 
to spirit ! What a maddening, bestial, devil- 
ish, purposeless, crazy cosmos ! ” 

Her teeth were hard set, while the tears 
shone in her wide-open eyes and on her cheeks 
strangely. 

“Oh, hush, hush, dear ! ” said Sylvia, hor- 
rified at her blasphemy. “ Our own little cos- 
mos or microcosm is what we make it, I have 
often heard you say, and ‘God’s in His heav- 
en.’ ” 

“If so, He is careful to stay there. I can’t 
find Him,” answered Yera, with something like 
a sob in her full stop. 

Sylvia had the sense to be silent. One of 
her best instincts was a recognition of the unfit, 
and she saw this was no opportunity for a 
homily. Yera might be a sceptic of orthodox 
views, but she was naturally neither irreligious 
nor irreverent. Just now she was off her rails, 
and of that Sylvia was quite well aware. The 


182 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


time-table had been found, and a train therein 
discovered for London in less than an hour. 
There was no time to be lost. Sylvia, seeing 
nothing could be said to dissuade Yera from 
the journey, hastened back to Somerville for 
her stock of ready money to place at her 
friend’s disposal, while the latter packed a few 
necessaries for travelling. They only just 
managed to catch the train, and as Sylvia 
watched it steam out of the station, with 
Yera’s white face trying to smile farewell from 
one of the wundows, she was conscious of ex- 
cessive feebleness in her standing capacity. 

“G-et me some brandy somehow, Mat- 
thews,” she said quickly to her attendant. 
“Pm going to sit on that seat a minute. 
Something has gone wrong with my legs.” 

When they got back, she slipped some- 
thing into the girl’s hand with the words — 

“Many thanks, Matthews, and please don’t 
say a word about my feeling queer at the sta- 
tion. I was a little upset, but am quite well 
now.” 

She did not sleep, however. Her tired 
brain was haunted by Yera’s anguished face, 
with the dew lying in those glittering open 
eyes. All through the night, in the midst of 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


183 


a blurred jumble of Greek and Latin declen- 
sions, algebraical symbols, and geometrical 
figures, she heard the monotonous voice chant- 
ing, “ Miserable, crazy cosmos — Garry dying,” 
over and over again. And above it all, like 
the ringing of a strange bell, would come the 
words she had heard Vera singing when she 
had entered her room, the wailing shred of 
melody clinging despite her inability to remem- 
ber its context— “ Love hath no ruth.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“ She loves him ; for her infinite soul is Love, 

And he her lode-star.” 

Rossetti. 

There was a stir in the North Writing 
School, and a cry for water. One of the stu- 
dents under examination had fainted over her 
paper, and there was a general sense of pity 
mixed with irritation at the interruption, as the 
slight figure of Sylvia Grant was carried out by 
one of the examiners. It was some minutes 
before the lady candidates, thus disturbed, 
could settle to work again ; and one girl was 
heard to say, in an audible tone, to another — 

“I knew that Sylvia Grant would not hold 
out. She has no stamina, and never ought to 
have come up yet.” 

At the same time poor Sylvia lay in the 
corridor, with a death pallor on her thin face, 
which threw into startling relief the long black 
lashes lying on her cheeks. Life seemed to 

( 184 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


185 


have receded so far that a doctor had to be 
fetched before animation could be restored, 
and then it was only a very partial animation. 

For with her breath came long sobbing 
sighs of exhaustion, and wandering remarks, 
which were so irrelevant as to prove that the 
mind so long under strain had at last turned 
in revolt, and neither tongue nor will had any 
longer control over its vagaries. 

Fragments of study and Vera’s name came 
uppermost in the froth of words, when her 
voice was able to make itself heard ; for Sylvia 
was very ill, and if she did not actually suffer 
an attack of brain-fever, at least she was 
delirious and unconscious for whole hours at a 
stretch. 

Mrs. Grant was telegraphed for, and all her 
great capacity for nursing was called into 
requisition by the immediate necessities of her 
daughter, who, for more than a week, knew her 
only at intervals. It was an anxious time, and 
so were the weeks following, during which a 
weary weakness threatened the very life of 
the invalid. Eight over Christmas Mrs. Grant 
watched, but still Sylvia could not be moved. 
By slow degrees, however, good nursing and 

nourishment spread faint colour in her cheeks, 
13 


186 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


and put fresh life into the exhausted organism. 
She had never been physically very strong, 
and the demands made upon her vitality by 
the mental cramming she had undergone, as- 
sisted by the anxiety and excitement she had 
felt over Vera, had been altogether too much 
for her. 

The very morning of the examination, when 
her mind required tranquillising in prepara- 
tion for the ordeal, a letter had arrived for her 
from Madeira, which was scarcely calculated to 
soothe her nerves. 

Distraction, in such a case, is said to be 
beneficial sometimes, but no one has said that 
actual grief and tears are the most exhilarat- 
ing aids to mental athletics ! And Vera’ s letter 
had upset her very much. It should never 
have been written to reach her when it did ; 
but Vera had forgotten everything else but 
her own pain and ecstasy, the pathos of which 
played on the sympathetic girl’s emotions ter- 
ribly. 

“ I am so happy, so very, very happy, dear 
Sylvia,” it ran. “ I never thought there could 
be such a heaven of joy in this world, as when 
I first found my love, Garry — now my own for 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


1ST 


evermore. To know that he wants only me, 
and that nothing on earth can take him away 
from me ! For he is going to die, and there is 
no fear that he can tire of me, or learn how 
small I am, or be horribly disappointed and 
disillusioned about me. This is my triumph, 
my consolation, my weapon against agony. I 
do not think of the future, though. I live 
only now. When he is dead I shall be dead 
too : there will be no me, and you will have 
another Vera Grace for your friend. All my 
life has been a mistake, save just this one 
thing — my love for him. It seems hard to have 
been looking for yourself all your life, and then 
find only to lose yourself again directly ! — only 
to -really live a few days! O Sylvia, Sylvia! 
pray for me that I may not go out of my mind 
with all this agony of joy and suffering at once. 
There seems to be a Great Reason somewhere, 
though I cannot see through all the rush and 
dust and mist of things. But to be here by 
Garry’s bed soothes and calms me. I try to 
realise my happiness, and so I write again—/ 
am hajpjpy. If only I might die too, there 
would be nothing left to wish for — only pure 
ecstasy of delight ! 


Vera. 


188 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“I ought to be with her,” Sylvia had sighed 

to herself, as she finished the letter through 

% 

blinding tears. “ There will be a reaction after 
all this, and then what will become of my poor 
Vera? ” 

She had thrown herself on her knees, pray- 
ing long and earnestly for her friend in an 
abandonment of craving and sorrowful com- 
passion. 

The result had been a throbbing head and 
aching eyes. Appetite had gone before, and 
her cold coffee had been drunk by force. Then 
came the suffocating silence of the examination 
room, and a paper of baneful problems. The 
paper was no harder than usual, but the figures 
had danced before her eyes like demons. No 
wonder there was a cry that a student had 
fainted, and that one girl should say to 
another, “I thought that Sylvia Grant would 
not hold out.” 

The first thing she desired, when she was 
well enough to have any wishes, was to hear 
something of Vera. Her mother told her an- 
other letter had come for her during her first 
weeks of prostration, which she had opened and 
read. It contained only the news of Garrick 
Maitland’s death, with a few words of resigna- 


GUST AND LAURELS. 


189 


tion from his widow , as she signed herself, Yera 
Maitland. The few words of incoherent grief 
contained in the postscript were of such an 
agitating nature that Mrs. Grant judged well 
not to say anything to Sylvia about them. She 
had written a kind letter back to Y era, ex- 
pressing sympathy, and telling her of Sylvia’s 
illness; addressing it to “Mrs. Garrick Mait- 
land.” There was a short note by return, say- 
ing Yera was very sorry to hear about dear 
Sylvia’s illness, and that she was returning 
home almost immediately. That was all. 
There was no further communication between 
them, until Sylvia was well enough to write 
herself, which was after she had been moved 
home. 

During all these weeks Noel Gordon had 
been wandering dejectedly to and from Somer- 
ville, with a more or less worried expression 
on his face. He was not allowed to see Sylvia 
for a long time ; and when, at last, he was ad- 
mitted, it was only for a few minutes, in the 
presence of that vigilant dragon-nurse, her 
mother. It was lucky for the young men 
whose mental training was in his charge that 
the term had ceased, so that his distress of 
mind could not influence his power over their 


190 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


usual masterly inactivity of intellect. Proba- 
bly they would have irritated bim beyond en- 
durance at this juncture, and he would have 
earned their hearty abuse into the bargain. 
Fortunately, therefore, his mind and temper 
had time to balance themselves before the Lent 
term began ; for the fact of Sylvia being out 
of danger, and gaining strength every day, 
gave him the necessary stimulation after his 
loss of holiday and fever of anxiety. 

A day or two before he went home, he was 
permitted to sit by her and talk for nearly a 
whole hour ; a privilege of which he made the 
most possible, one may be sure. 

“I hope you are not going to score off me, 
Noel,” she said, with her soft eyes resting on 
his face in the helpless way so natural to con- 
valescents. 

“To score off you!” in injured tones. 
“My own Sylvia, how can you suggest such a 
thing?” 

“Because you know you always said I 
should not get through in Latin and Greek so 
soon, and I cannot help believing you rather 
wished I might fail.” 

“ Indeed you wrong me, dear.” 

“ But you hope my failure may be a lesson 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


191 


to me, and warn me against another trial ; isn’t 
that so % You will back mother and father up 
in their power and influence to keep me at 
home in future, — that is, until I marry you,— 
will you not ? ” 

Noel was silent. It is not improbable that 
such guilty thoughts as these had been gath- 
ering in his mind. Sylvia went on, with the 
same gentle smile — 

“That is what I mean by saying you tri- 
umph. For if you, and my people, and my 
own miserable physique are all against me, 
what can I do \ ” 

He hesitated to speak, then asked, without 
replying— 

“But don’t you think yourself that you 
will be unfit for study for a long time, and 
that it is natural for us all to be anxious that 
you do not overdo it again ? ” 

“ That is begging the question,” said Sylvia 
sternly. “Prisoner at the bar, are you or are 
you not guilty ? ” 

“I plead guilty under extenuating circum- 
stances,” he said quickly. 

“ I do not acknowledge the extenuatingness 
of the same,” she said ; “ and I beg to inform 
you that I” — 


192 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“Mean to defy all laws of mercy, com- 
mon sense, and authority, do you not?” he 
asked. “I know well what you are go- 
ing to say, Sylvia, and I have my answer to 
it ready.” 

“ You think I am going to say that I mean 
to take my First Class in spite of you and all 
the mothers and fathers in Christendom ; and 
your answer will be, ‘You are as obstinate as 
a little mule ! ’ ” 

“Nothing of the kind. My answer is, 
darling Sylvia, that if you are determined to 
cram your sweet little head with matter 
worthy only to stuff the hard and crusty skull 
of man, I am bound to stand by and help 
you till all is blue — your dear self included.” 

“Do you really mean that, Noel?” the 
tears springing to her brown eyes. 

“I do most assuredly, so don’t torment 
yourself farther. Whatever you wish is my 
wish, and I am sworn over to serve you all my 
life, even if you stick at crabbed books till 
we are both giley and toothless. I may pro- 
test, but that is the most I will permit my- 
self.” 

Her moist eyes fell before his ardent look. 
She was still for a few moments, and then 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


193 

said, very low, so that he had to bend for- 
ward in order to hear her — 

“No need even to protest, Noel, for your 
wish is my wish too.” 

He looked at her in bewilderment. 

“ What do you mean, dearest?” he asked 
almost with a gasp. 

“I mean that I have decided to throw 
away all chances of setting the Isis on fire, and 
go in for housekeeping books, and the hum- 
drum, awfully common career of matrimony, 
by your leave.” 

“ What ? When ? — Sylvia, do you mean 
it?” 

“ I do mean it, Noel. It is not because I 
am afraid to try again, or that I think my 
health would not stand it. I seem to have 
turned superstitious lately, that’s all.” 

He heard her voice break a little, and felt 
as if his heart would burst with tenderness. 

“ Why, what is it, darling ? ” he asked, 
caressing her hand reverently. 

“ You know about poor Yera, don’t you ? ” 
She collected herself and spoke calmly 
enough. u What? haven’t you heard of her 
great trouble ? The love of her life has come 
to her hand in hand with death. My poor 


194 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


Vera ! ” Again the treacherous voice failed 
her. 

“ No, I had not heard. Who was it, then? 
Surely not Lascelles ” — 

“ Oh no, no ! ” Sylvia couldn’t help laugh- 
ing here. “Not that. Hush! A man , I be- 
lieve, though I do not know him. He was 
coming home from abroad to marry her, and 
was taken ill of fever at Madeira. Since I 
have been ill she has written to say he is 
dead.” 

Gordon was silent. His masculine logic 
was trying to put one and one together with- 
out leaving one over ; and he could not ac- 
count for Lascelles. Had not Vera Grace said 
she would marry that adolescent the very last 
time he had met her? And he had heard 
nothing about her since. 

“ Hid she really care for the fellow ? ” he 
said at length meditatively. 

“Of course she did. Would she have 
gone right off by herself to Madeira to nurse 
him if she had not loved him dearly ? ” Syl- 
via grew quite indignant at his dubious tone. 

“I could never understand what Miss 
Grace would or would not do, under given cir- 
cumstances, as she was always a complete 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


195 


sphinx to me,” said poor Gordon, feeling 
slightly crushed. 

“ That is because you have not studied her 
as I have. And the moral of it all is — Oh, 
don’t you see the moral, Noel?” 

‘ 4 1 must confess I don’ t — quite — Sylvia 
dear ; but you can explain. I am only a man, 
you know, and do not understand clearly even 
the one woman I am making my life-study.” 

“The moral is — never tempt Providence! 
Who knows, if Ido not marry you soon, what 
cruel, direful fate may not overtake us, as it 
has overtaken my poor Vera? Indeed, her 
sorrow and my illness have warned me, Noel. 
I thought I was going to die, and I said to 
myself, If God will only make me well, I will 
marry Noel at once. It was a solemn vow to 
sacrifice ambition to love — a sacred vow surely. 
I did not know it before, till Vera’s terrible 
fate opened my eyes, but I know now that 
love is before everything, and we must not 
play with it. We must not play with life 
either, but take what we can get and be thank- 
ful. With Eden I ought to have been satis- 
fied, without the apple of knowledge. Let 
some less fortunate girl, barred outside Eden, 
have my apple.” _ She smiled at her con- 


196 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


elusion, for imagery was not Sylvia’s strong 
point ; and that smile embraced Noel’s loving, 
longing eyes. 

“ My own precious Sylvia ! ” he said ; and 
the scene that followed, being of a sacred and 
ceremonious character, is unfit to be profaned 
by the gaze even of the most reverent spec- 
tator ! 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“ The dead abide with us ! Though, stark and cold, 

Earth seems to grip them, they are with us still.” 

Mathilde Blind. 

The few days following that awful one, 
when Vera felt her lover’s hand grow cold and 
limp over her own, and saw the death-damp 
on his weary, handsome face, were passed by 
her in such a lethargy of spirit and body, that 
the few who had interested themselves in her 
sad story felt alarmed. These were the Eng- 
lish doctor and nurse (the latter a Sister of 
Mercy, and a good kind woman), and the host- 
ess of the hotel where Garrick had been hur- 
riedly taken when he was shipped off the 
steamer Rockingham Castle. All three were 
assiduous in their attempts to befriend and 
console the lonely woman, who lay all day 
and night stretched on her back, with eyes, 
fixed and glazed, looking up at the ceiling. 
She aroused herself to take the refreshment 

(197) 


198 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


brought to her at intervals, or rather to play 
with it, and to write one or two letters. That 
was all. 

The moment she had realised that Garrick 
was dead, she had fled from the room, and, 
when asked whether she had any wishes as 
to the arrangements for his funeral, had re- 
plied that she had not, with a shudder, but 
they had better cable to his uncle, his nearest 
relative. For her part, she requested not to 
be consulted in the matter, as she had no fur- 
ther concern with the part of her lover that 
was left — that part which, she said, was no 
longer Garrick Maitland. In spite of these 
words her mind dwelt constantly on the white 
face with that awful peace and laxness on it ; 
until she had to beg Sister Mercedes to stay 
by her, feeling a horrible magnetism was draw- 
ing her towards the silent room where the 
simulacrum lay, and dreading lest, in a mo- 
ment of restless sleep, she might awake to 
find herself in that fearful presence, — that 
cruel travesty upon her strong, laughing, fear- 
less Garry ! 

“Don’t let me go out of this room,” she 
implored the good sister. u My steps wander 
to the door when I am awake, and in my 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


199 


sleep, when w T ill is forceless, what can keep 
me from that watch-place by the bed ? ” 

Her eyes gleamed strangely, and all the 
practised soothing of the good nurse was re- 
quired to soothe her nerves. 

She had not shed a tear, not even when she 
read Mrs. Grant’s kind letter, which might 
have opened the channels of that self-pity 
which is so tear-inducing to ns all. In point 
of fact she was as utterly prostrated in spirit 
as though her brain had been chloroformed 
without interrupting the natural functions of 
her body. When Garrick’s uncle arrived, she 
had to see him, and one of the first questions 
he asked was, very naturally, as to her title 
to be called Mrs. Maitland ; thinking perhaps 
the marriage ceremony had, been performed 
at the sick-bed ; which proceeding he was pre- 
pared to stigmatise as utterly absurd and ro- 
mantic. However, he was more surprised 
than such news could have made him, to 
learn that she had no legal right whatever to 
the name of wife. 

“ I am not Mrs. Garrick Maitland bylaw, 
but by adoption,” she said, with a wan smile. 
“I choose to adopt the name. Have you any 
objection % ” 


200 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


She knew better than to say that by the 
sacrament of true love she was Garry’s wife, 
and meant to be always his widow ; that they 
were married in the sight of Heaven, and that 
the letter was not necessary. In the first 
place, she felt instinctively that such argu- 
ments would only raise a scoff from the hard- 
headed old gold-magnet before her ; and in 
the second place her thoughts on the subject 
were too deep for words to dress in. 

He had nothing to say, except that, person- 
ally, he had not the slightest objection to her 
calling herself anything she chose. Of course 
she knew such a claim on her part was liable 
to misconception, and that in any case it 
would not entitle her to any properties the de- 
funct might have left behind. For his part, he 
could not understand why she desired to take 
upon herself the dignity of a married woman 
without any adequate reason. He looked at 
her sharply as he said this, and added that it 
was even probable some scandal might attach 
itself to such a proceeding. But any sug- 
gestion or suspicion contained in his words 
fell short of Vera, who simply listened 
to him with the leaden expression and fixed 
eyes of a somnambulist, lending neither re- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


201 

sentment nor even interest to his insinua- 
tions. 

He felt completely baffled by her indiffer- 
ence, and her attitude was so inexplicable to 
him that he closed the interview as soon as 
possible. He mentally decided that trouble 
had turned her head, and she was mad as a 
hatter ; the usual sweeping conclusion of the 
mediocre robust mind when it meets with any- 
thing in another that is not comprehensible 
to it. He troubled her no more, and merely 
grunted when he heard afterwards that Gar- 
rick had made a will before leaving Cape 
Town, leaving all his worldly goods to Ve- 
ronica Grace, Spinster. This amounted to no 
very great fortune in the opinion of Maitland 
avuncular, who was a rich man chiefly through 
shady transactions in finance ; but it was a 
very tolerable sum, possessing a probability 
of increasing value under certain favourable 
conditions of the gold market. Garrick had 
made most of it by his “claims” while he was 
on Tom Tiddler’s ground in the Transvaal, and 
it was safely invested. 

Of this Vera knew nothing until after the 
funeral, when she began to arouse herself and 

set about returning home and buying mourn- 
14 


202 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


ing. She hated black clothes like snakes, and 
thought clothing in dismal crepe a barbarous 
custom, a twaddling pretence. That is to 
say, she had thought so formerly. Now she 
realised what a comfort it was that some one 
should have thought out a symbol for woe, to 
save sorrowful souls the study of how to ex- 
press outwardly the utter inward darkness that 
is a concomitant of bereavement. She wanted 
the world to see and know she mourned, this 
inconsistent person, and then she would be left 
alone with her grief, nor be expected to take 
part in distractions of any kind. So she bought 
a black frock and a little widow’s cap and veil, 
taking a melancholy, apathetic sort of pleasure 
in wearing them, which reached the point of 
sensation only when she observed the impres- 
sion made by her appearance on those around 
her. When she received the intimation by 
letter of the doy/ry that had been left to her, 
she was just beginning to feel the small satis- 
faction alluded to above, and the news affected 
her strangely. She was elated yet distressed 
by it, and in laughter very nearly shed her 
first tears ; for the knowledge that Garrick’s 
one thought had been of her before starting 
from Africa was rapture, and the thought of 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


203 


him a torturing stab. It had the effect of 
arousing her more than anything else could 
have done, however, and directed her mind 
into calculations as to how the money must be 
spent. To do her justice, her immediate inten- 
tions were not selfish. She had long held a 
scheme in her mind which, through lack of 
means, had been impracticable. Now it re- 
curred to her with force, and took possession 
of that part which even grief can only excep- 
tionally paralyse. ^ It is only the purely un- 
thinking individual, or the mind extraordi- 
narily capable of seeing but one object at a 
time, — that is to say, the extremes of dulness 
and vivid idealisation, — that are so absolutely 
overborne by sorrow as never to be able to lift 
their battered branches from the ground where 
the storm has laid them, j Vera was neither. 
Sylvia had said she wasmorbid, but she was 
not morbid in the sense of possessing a 
brooding imagination. Her emotions were 
healthily ephemeral, and a week sufficed 
to make her whole again, with the sap still 
flowing, though not perhaps so quickly and 
joyously as before. She would have liked 
to brood over her sorrow, and never to have 
recovered from it, which would have satisfied 


204 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


her craving for romance, but she had a splen- 
did physique, and a mind like a mirror for 
impressions, so that it was impossible her sad 
experience should remain painted upon her 
thoughts irremovably. They would ever be 
stained by the memory, but not to any degree 
paralysed or morbidly affected. After, then, 
this terrible shock of joy and death, she re- 
bounded into a condition of calm and reason 
unknown in her annals. She wanted, she had 
always wanted, to make some effort on behalf 
of those girls who are thrown on their own 
resources for a living, without adequate train- 
ing, and who almost invariably choose teaching 
for their profession. One of her .reasons for 
wishing to qualify herself in the higher edu- 
cation had been — at the first onset — that she 
might be able to assist such unfortunates, who 
appealed to her in a much higher degree than 
the class known generally as “ the Poor.” 
f There was nothing so piteous in her eyes as 
/ the sight of* a struggling woman, getting on 
in years without ever having known youth 
proper, or felt the delightful, irresponsible, in- 
definite charm of guarded girlhood. A woman 
usually of refined tastes and keen capabilities 
of enjoyment, who can afford neither to gratify 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


21 


taste nor taste gratification ! Growing old 
sadly, with pauperism’s hollow eyes threaten- 
ing her, with no time to cultivate friendship or 
give loving service for others, becoming more 
soured and plainer day by day, slaving to 
keep ahead of the pupils she is gradually los- 
ing, and breaking up her health at an age 
which should be the very prime of her life, — 
the governess, worst-paid and hardest- working 
of all labourers, sinks slowly into the oblivion 
that is her sole refuge ! So concluded Yera^ 
from her personal knowledge of the species, 
which had been extensive from her middle- 
class point of view, and she had early formed 
an ideal plan for the aid of these dreary-lived 
women. 

Briefly stated, her ideal scheme had been 
something like this : That a college should be 
founded and raised on subscription, which 
should be free to all young women who could 
obtain the necessary number of votes, and 
show cause why they should not pay, or why 
their parents should not pay, for their educa- 
tion. In this college girls should be trained 
technically, not only for teachiug, but for every 
kind of employment open to women. 

In connection with the college there should 


206 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


be a guild which all members might join by 
paying a very small yearly fee, as an assurance 
of a pension in so many years, should they 
become out of employment or incapacitated. 
There were other features which need not be 
entered upon here. One is worth mentioning. 
Vera would like to have introduced into her 
college a “ Frauenstift” after the fashion of 
those in Germany, wherein a father, at the 
birth of a daughter, might insure her a compe- 
tency should she not marry before a given age. 
This was Vera’s idea, and she had played with 
it in fancy for several years ; now it broke 
upon her again, wreathed by the radiance with 
which the thought of Garrick’s money invested 
it. Half transported out of herself as she was 
now, the notion of putting her wealth and 
energy into such an enterprise as this would 
be, filled her with fresh life and charmed her. 

Let it be confessed that personal vanity 
threaded her worthier desires. She felt what 
a glorious institution it would be with which 
she would have her name connected in after 
years ; and perhaps she may be forgiven this 
in consideration of the fact that she anticipated 
^ no other personal hereafter. The loving mem- 
ory of her fellow- creatures was all she hoped 


DUST AND LAURELS. 207 

for, and this might be a better way of gaining 
it than the old dream of literary renown. 

The money coming to her as it did just now, 
when she had lost taste for her own attractive 
person and took no pleasure in the future, 
seemed specially designed by fate for this 
scheme. Strangely, it took such possession of 
her that, for once in her life, she was self- 
absorbed and reticent upon the subject. But, 
after a short visit home, which was a sad one 
to her by reason of the many questions she was 
obliged to answer, she returned to her rooms 
at Oxford, and set to work making known her 
project. 

The abnormal settlement of all her faculties 
to one end surprised every one, most of all her- 
self. She felt tha£ the storm and stress of life 
was over, that excitement no longer attracted 
her, and that, in short, the most vivid of all 
possible sensations — love and parting — had 
drained the old passion for nerve experiment 
out of her. 

Consequently, she did good work for once. 
For once she studied with persistence and 
wrote with true religious fervour; the only 
way to write stuff that can verily touch or 
benefit the reader. She resorted to pen, ink, 


208 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


and paper as some folk take to drink or opium 
in affliction, to drown sorrow, and gave herself 
to useful but uncongenial subjects as some 
others have taken to the scourge. Only that 
in all she did a better object than her own com- 
fort was combined — the beatification of life 
for some of her fellow- women. 

Her first action was to write and tell Sylvia 
all her plans, not forgetting one which con- 
cerned the girl herself, namely, that, should 
the college ever be floated, Noel Gordon should 
be offered the post of Principal. Sylvia was 
delighted with it all, and wrote back telling 
Vera of her change of mind regarding her Uni- 
versity career, which Vera was not sorry, on 
the whole, to hear. The two friends were, as 
usual, in full sympathy with each other. 
There was that warm affection between them 
that some people think can only exist between 
man and woman, but which may certainly 
often be found between two such opposite 
characters as those of Vera and Sylvia, where 
each supplies something to the other. So life 
sprang back to them both, after having gone 
through crises which necessarily made altera- 
tions in their characters ; each to each, as if 
nothing had happened, they clung as before. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


209 


And by June a new book was in the press 
by Mrs. Garrick Maitland (Vera gloried in the 
fancy of seeing Garry’s name borrowing fame 
from her intellect), in which an ideal Free Col- 
lege for Women was presented in full construc- 
tion, graphically described and glowingly eu- 
logised, while the characters stood out strongly, 
virile men and earnest, living women. The 
story was dramatic, and some of the situations 
powerfully conceived and presented. It was 
characterised by a passionate pity for wronged 
wretchedness and incapacity, and intense sym- 
pathetic insight into the impulses and motives 
of womankind, in its noblest and meanest as- 
pects. The authoress launched it forth with a 
sigh of relief and sad feeling of failure and 
deprecation, although it had been written in a 
high state of rapt tension. 

“It will not reach,” she thought; “the 
purpose is too obvious. The book is too seri- 
ous to be read by the many ; it will fall fiat, 
and I have put my life-fire into it.” 

Then she received an invitation to Sylvia’s 
wedding, just as the need for change pressed 
upon her, and she was beginning to feel a most 
baleful depression and despair. 


CHAPTER XY. 

“ A wretched thing it were to have our heart 
Like a broad highway on a populous street.” 

Trench. 

The meeting of the two friends a couple of 
days before the great nuptial event was as 
joyous as a reunion of lovers. They sat hand 
in hand, looking at each other and criticising 
each other in that frank, feminine fashion 
which, between real friends, is always so kind 
and partial, so flattering and pleasant. For 
those you love seldom seem to alter for the 
worse (with an avalanche of disappointment), 
and women like to know that loving eyes note 
a becoming garb or a gathered sweetness of ex- 
pression. 

“ You look as if you had been working 
hard, and are somehow more refined and 
poetic,” said Sylvia fondly, looking admiringly 
at the fair-framed face of her friend, which the 

little white cap crowned softly. 

( 210 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


211 


“ One could scarcely help gaining in re- 
finement and poetry after five months’ so- 
journ in Oxford,” said Vera. “ Do you know, 
sweetheart, the longer I stay there, the more 
I appreciate the magnificent privileges of the 
place. Every wall affects one like church 
music, every hoary college speaks straight to 
all one’s intellect and imagination. I almost 
feel that it is only necessary to lean against 
the doors of St. Johns, or Merton, or Oriel, for 
beautiful thoughts to flow through them out 
of me into the world — such thoughts as to 
raise the tone and alter the whole key-note of 
society ! ” 

“ Even the cosmos, the poor old cos- 
mos that you abused?” said Sylvia, smil- 
ing. 

“The great organism of fire, and space, 
and motion, and all other illimitable, indefin- 
able word-phantasms, which laughs at our 
babyish nomenclature ! How funny to think 
one can abuse such infinite sublimity without 
one’s presumptuous little tongue dropping 
out ! I suppose it is because we are so small 
that we are not worth noticing. How is it, 
I wonder, that in misery we see no reason, 
whilst in happiness everything seems per- 


212 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


fectly regulated ? Absurd may-flies, we hu- 
mans ! ” 

“But tell me about your book. When 
will it be reviewed ? ” demanded Sylvia, with 
the irrelevance only possible between perfect 
friends. 

“Dear, it is going to be a ‘dead frost.’ 
That’s theatrical slang, you know, for a fright- 
ful failure. During the time I was writing, it 
appeared to me the most enthralling and thrill- 
ing narrative ever given to the public. When 
I revised it, the characters appeared un- 
natural, the plot ill-constructed and worse 
worked-out, the language inadequate. When 
I came to correct the proofs, I was struck with 
astonishment that any publisher could be 
found to bring out such utter insipid drivel ! ” 

“ That is all fancy, of course.” 

“I fervently hope so ; and that is why I 
let the thing go on to challenge the verdict 
of the critics. I have come to the conclusion 
that an author is absurdly incapable of judg- 
ing his or her own work. Not only incapa- 
ble, but fatally and extraordinarily perverse. 
Merits appear demerits, and vice versa. It is 
like looking through a photographic lens, 
when the sitter appears poised on the head, 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


213 


with the legs where the head should be. 
You see your own story wrong way up ; a 
most distorted view, I assure you, and utterly 
unreliable.” 

“ I have heard so before ; but I do not be- 
lieve it,” Sylvia declared firmly. “ Do you 
mean to tell me that there are not parts of 
your work that you know, by an invincible in- 
stinct, are good ; and that your verdict is 
never justified by the public \ ” 

“Now and then, in rare instances. Of 
course I cannot speak dogmatically yet. I 
have only published one tale, and in that I 
can safely affirm every point of mine was 
danced upon by the critics.” 

“Critics!” said Sylvia, turning up her 
little nose. “Abuse is the stock-in-trade of 
critics ; and they think it indicates sound 
judgment to revile everything the ordinary 
reader sets store upon, on the ground that the 
general reading public is dunder-headed. 
Probably the most independent of your read- 
ers, lacking this affectation, will endorse your 
own opinion.” 

“ But I’m afraid I side with the critics in 
their contempt of public dunder-headedness, 
and would rather trust their judgment than 


214 


DUST AND LAURELS. 




that of the average reader. I am grateful 
for outside criticism, Sylvia, having felt the 
value of it, and my own inability to use it on 
myself. Self-criticism requires a bigger mind 
than I own. I have great faith, though, in 
my publisher, Mr. Gerrould ; he is a scholar 
as well as a man of business. You would 
like him.” 

44 And what does he say ? ” 

“That there is power; and the book will 
either make a great hit, or none at all. By 
the latter he means that it may prove only a 
4 reviewer’s book,’ as he calls it, — not a popu- 
lar one.” 

44 H’m ! Is his opinion worth having ? ” 

44 Decidedly. He is down on faults in con- 
struction, or punctuation, or technical infor- 
mation, like a battering-ram. He seems to 
take a great interest in me, and has given 
me dozens of useful hints, good advice, etc. 
Oh, lie’s a clever man ! ” 

44 Of course he takes an interest in you,” 
said Sylvia, musing. 44 How much do you 
like him for all this ? ” 

44 Tremendously ! He is just what I want, 
— a sort of lean-post and strait- waistcoat. We 
are becoming fast friends.” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


215 


“ What is he like in appearance ? ” 

“Tall and thin, wearing spectacles, getting 
baldish on the top, pointed beard, deep-set eyes 
of no colour. No sex.” 

“ What do you mean, Yera % ” 

“ I mean that one forgets he is a man ; that’s 
all. He is very nice, though, really ; and has 
charming manners. I must introduce him to 
you. But now tell me about the bridesmaids’ 
frocks.” 

(“She ought to marry that publisher man,” 
thought Sylvia to herself.) 

It must be remarked in passing that Yera 
had declined to be Sylvia’s bridesmaid, because 
that would have involved giving up her mar- 
ried title. Now she thought she would rather 
like to be one of the fair swarm, who, in uni- 
form attire of cowslip colour, would trail after 
a white Sylvia to the altar. The latter plunged 
into a minute account of dressery and millinery, 
from which she did not emerge until the dress- 
ing-bell rang for dinner. 

After dinner the bride’s trousseau was re- 
viewed, and superlative adjectives of commen- 
dation called into requisition. There were few 
people in the house as yet, most of the guests 
arriving later, so the two friends had a good 


216 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


time to themselves, and spent a greater part of 
the night talking until they could talk no 
longer. Yera poured into Sylvia’s sympathetic 
ear the whole story of Garrick Maitland’s death, 
and her great joy and grief, in language warm 
from her heart, half incoherent, half poetic, — 
that style of her own which has been so often 
commented upon in her writings. She finished 
by saying that a change had passed over her, 
as great as when a city is shaken to its founda- 
tions by a shock of earthquake. She no longer 
understood how she could ever have been the 
Veronica of old. She was building herself up 
anew, and believed herself now to be shaken 
free from all the curious taints and impulses of 
that other self which she seemed to have cast 
behind her. 

“ It is as though,” she said solemnly, “my 
spirit were now shaping my matter, instead of 
matter shaping me, the veritable individual 
me. The only sensation I crave is that of in- 
tellectual perception, and the only thing that 
excites me is to find myself face to face with a 
sublime thought or a suggestive one. Touch 
has no longer any power over me. I am free 
at last ; disinfected by love ! ” 

“Don’t be too sure,” Sylvia had said dubi- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


217 


ously. “You are still a woman, Yera, how- 
ever spiritual and intellectual crises may have 
made you. Some man will want to marry you, 
and then ” — 

She paused. In her non-analytic, intuitive 
way she thought she understood Vera pretty 
well. Perhaps she did. But Very flew at her 
in distressful indignation. 

“0 Sylvia! that you should suggest such 
a thing — you who know me, and know what 
I have gone through so recently ! After scal- 
ing heaven and probing hell, surely you can- 
not doubt that I have been tried by fire. If 
any man offered to marry me now, I should 
look upon him as an insulter ! ” 

And Sylvia only replied to all this hyper- 
bole by saying — 

“Yes, dear, I don’t doubt it; but you 
would forgive the insult, and like the man for 
offering it.” 

And that was the close of the subject, for 
it led Vera into such a train of reflection 
and self-analysis that she wished to talk no 
more. 


15 


CHAPTER XVI. 

“ Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
Her infinite variety.” 

Shakespeare. 

The day began by being wet, as most 
July days in England do. From one end of 
the Ford Grants’ house to the other all was 
excitement and confusion ; even the gardeners 
outside were driven almost wild by contra- 
dictory orders. Flowers for the table were, of 
course, to be all white ; then why were other 
flowers of infinite hues required by first one 
and then another of the guests and servants % 
One wanted this, and then didn’t want it ; or 
that, and then didn’t want that. The whole 
household and gardenhold ran into each other 
persistently, and everybody who came down 
fresh to breakfast wondered why he or she 
couldn’t get the meal in peace, and be waited 
on as usual. Guests arrived from north, south, 

east, and west, beginning soon after eleven 

( 218 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


219 


o’clock ; and even serene Mrs. Grant contract- 
ed a slight pucker on her smooth forehead as 
surroundings became more and more kaleido- 
scopic. She was too easy-going a mistress to 
observe the precision and regularity of a model 
housewife ; consequently the usual happy-go- 
lucky freedom of the place degenerated into 
disorder, as it had done before, in that unfor- 
tunate time when measles had broken out 
upon it. 

But a gradual sifting process took place 
towards two o’clock, the time fixed for the 
wedding, and the sun graciously bestowed the 
honour of his rare presence upon the bride, as 
she stepped forward from the porch in lus- 
trous raiment, artistically designed and pictur- 
esquely becoming. There was nothing stiff, 
but all one even flow of soft shining white, 
draped loosely and fastened here and there 
with the traditional orange-flower ; wdiilst her 
bunch of sweet-brier, jasmine, mignonette, and 
white sweet-pea was less funereal than the 
conventional bouquet. 

The bridesmaids were pretty girls; two 
cousins (one the sister of Frank Thorold), 
one sister of the bridegroom, and a friend. 
Their frocks also were devoid of harsh lines 


220 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


and seams ; fitting, without having been obvi- 
ously carved to model corsets. Sylvia, usu- 
ally so indifferent to the wearing of clothes, 
had studied this matter well, and adopted a 
suggestion from Yera that her aim should be 
not so much fashion or brilliancy as pictur- 
esqueness of effect, and the result was un- 
doubtedly successful. 

Yera felt undeniably pleased with herself 
as she took a final view of her person before 
going downstairs. Her attire was certainly 
a novel arrangement, as it consisted of a 
sixteenth-century-fashioned garment, made in 
soft dull white stuff, and was crowned by 
a little Mary Stuart black bonnet, from which 
a long widow’s veil was thrown backwards. 

Absurd as it was, it suited her admirably, 
and gave her the sort of out-of-the-way look 
she desired. That night, after saying good- 
bye to Sylvia, and shedding abundant tears 
over the parting, more from excitement than 
any other feeling, — she kept her tears for such 
occasions, — Yera changed her gown for dinner 
with a keener interest and pleasure in her 
appearance than she had felt since Garrick’s 
death. She had said to herself that she did 
not want to look nice, and that black made her 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


221 


look atrociously old and sallow, so she would 
just wear it. All the same, she did not dis- 
dain to have her robe made by first-rate hands, 
and of a first-rate material ; nor did she waste 
little time over the consideration of it. Conse- 
quently, when she saw herself in black velvet, 
softly shaded round the low neck and minute 
sleeves with white ostrich feathers, bearing a 
tiny Stuart cap of black velvet on her blonde 
hair, she was not at all displeased with the 
reflection. The whole effect was refined and 
fanciful ; there was light in her eyes, and 
colour on her cheeks. She bravely resisted a 
temptation to tone down that vivid colour with 
chalk, and gained by the denial. 

When she entered the drawing-room, it was 
to find all the other guests talking about her, 
as she knew by the sudden silence that fol- 
lowed her entrance. With an instinct of pos- 
ing she arrested herself on the threshold, and 
looked round to note who observed her. Then 
some one walked across the room from an op- 
posite corner boldly, and offered his hand. It 
was Frank Thorold, who was there with his 
sister. 

“I want to congratulate you,” he said 
abruptly, and somewhat awkwardly. “Your 


222 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


name and fortune are made now for certain, 
they say ; although, of course, your name was 
made before.” He stammered, got very red, 
and backed to let her pass. 

Mr. Grant followed suit. 

“We are proud to number amongst our 
guests so distinguished a lady,” he said, and 
he too extended his hand, as he offered her a 
seat, taking his stand beside her. 

Several more people pressed forward with 
more congratulations. She looked around in 
amazement. What did it all mean ? Had the 
whole brood gone mad at once, or were they 
having a joke with her % 

She was soon enlightened. Her novel had 
been reviewed in a leading magazine, by an 
eminent author and critic, so favourably as to 
leave no doubt ^s to the position she was 
henceforth to take in literature. Some one had 
seen the review, which was only just out, and 
had been quoting passages from it in order to 
wile away the uninteresting minutes which 
elapse before the dinner-hour is pummelled on 
the gong. 

“ You could not have told me anything that 
would please me better. I would rather have 
his praise than that of half the world ! ” Yera 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


223 


exclaimed, when she heard the name of the 
great critic, with her usual aptitude for ex- 
tremes. Her eyes flashed with a great radi- 
ance ; she was elated beyond measure, yet 
felt as if she could hardly bear the comments 
which were passed upon her talents and her 
success. She could not eat at dinner, feeling 
sick with excitement and emotion, for, mingled 
with her sense of relief and rapture, was a 
passionate sadness, that every few moments 
threatened to choke her. What was it all 
worth to her, success and adulation, without 
Garry? It had always been, “This will be 
something to make him proud of me ; ” now 
there was no Garry to be proud or pleased. It 
was always in such hours as these, all through 
her life afterwards, when she was lifted from 
her ordinary plane, that the old agony renewed 
itself. She came to be afraid of sudden pleasure 
or keen excitement, from dread of this ache 
lying at the depth of her spirit, to be stirred 
up to the surface at any violent sensation. 

She tried to talk to her neighbours, and 
she swallowed Burgundy and champagne in 
larger doses than ever before, hardly knowing 
what she was doing, and only wishing to dis- 
solve the lump in her throat and appear at 


224 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


ease. When dinner was over and dancing be- 
gan, she felt better, assuming queenly airs. 
She was not going to dance, oh no ! But she 
did not scorn the attentions of the young men 
who crowded round her chair, and gazed with 
admiring eyes upon her variable face in its 
glow of brilliant colour. The play of quick 
expression, the upturned chin and smoothly 
modelled throat, were not lost upon them. 
She felt again the old intuition that without 
positive beauty she held the charm and power 
of beauty, and the knowledge intoxicated her 
probably more than it ever could have done a 
perfectly beautiful woman, because of the con- 
sciousness that she herself, and not the face 
she was born with, wielded the power. 

All the evening she laughed and talked 
and played the heartless, entrancing, puzzling, 
diverting society woman, with a masterly tech- 
nique which surpassed anything she had ever 
attempted. The girls present could not under- 
stand why their partners preferred listening to 
Mrs. Maitland to dancing with them, not having 
yet learned the secret of conscious power in a 
woman of tact, who knows the exact amount 
of suggested flattery a man can swallow and 
enjoy. They did not realize, these pretty 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


225 


buds, that the open flower has a charm of 
captivation quite its own, and above all that 
the male human of to-day requires to be 
amused before everything. A jolly girl is 
more to him than a pretty girl, or a good 
girl, or a clever girl ; at all events in the or- 
dinary gatherings of society. He may not 
always choose the jolly girl for his wife. 

In her most serious moods Vera was always 
interesting, if not amusing, and she had of late 
acquired that perfect confidence in herself that 
commands success as a man-magnet. 

But if the girls who sat out, some few of 
them, yawning on sofas through the waltzes, 
envied the woman in black velvet whose eyes 
shone so attractively, and whose low laugh 
rang so full of unreserved fun, they did so 
in pure ignorance. The flattery and excite- 
ment was opium to Vera, and she had to suf- 
fer for it horribly afterwards. 

When Frank Thorold, who had hovered in 
her vicinity most part of the evening, per- 
suaded her to go with him to a room where 
sandwiches and coffee were being dispensed 
amongst other things, she consented with alac- 
rity. After a better meal than she had made 
at dinner, she leant back in her chair and 


226 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


watched him throw off a glass of port, re- 
membering what Mrs. Grant had said about 
his inclination to unsteadiness. This carried 
her back to other memories again, and the 
oppression fastened upon her once more, heav- 
ily. Life seemed again worthless and disap- 
pointing, as it ever does at times to those 
who have no control over their moods and 
tenses. 

“What are you thinking about so seri- 
ously \ ” asked her companion, approaching 
her with earnest eyes. 

“I don’t know. I think it was — I wish 
you wouldn’t drink off port wine like that, 
as if it were water.” After she had said this, 
she regretted her words. What would he 
think \ 

“I!” — he looked startled. “Why, you 
don’t think I drink too much, do you ? I 
give you my word I don’t — now. Once I was 
rather — well — I was a young fool, you know. 
It was after — you remember perhaps — if you 
haven’t forgotten. It was hard on a Johnny.” 
He finished his incoherent sentences with a 
sudden ruefulness. 

Yera was silent for a moment. 

“ I didn’t mean to be so wicked,” she said ; 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


227 


“and that is what always hurts me — to think 
of you, how hard it was upon you, how crush- 
ing, when you respected me. It was a hate- 
ful business altogether. I was mad, and you 
must try and think it was temporary insanity. 
Perhaps you could forgive me if you knew 
how I have suffered since, and how truly sorry 
and repentant I was. I have been punished. 
But, above all things, don’t let me think I 
harmed you too.” She broke off suddenly at 
the end of the sentence, having more to say, 
but being unable to say it. 

He saw the tears in her eyes, and dared 
not trust himself to speak either. So there 
was a long pause. Yera drew a difficult 
breath. Then he said, stretching his chest and 
throwing back his head, with direct prac- 
ticality — 

“ I will drink nothing but water all the 
rest of my life if you ask me, I promise you, 
Yera — I mean Mrs. Maitland. Must I call 
you that % And as for doing me harm, that 
was my own fault for daring to think you 
would ever look at me. Whatever you did it 
would make no difference to me, though, I be- 
lieve. Now I know you, I could trust you, 
and even if I didn’t I should love ” — 


228 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


Vera rose quickly and put her arm in his. 

“ Yes, of course ; it is very nice of you to 
say all that. I always knew you were a dear 
nice boy, nicer than anybody almost. And 
now take me back, please. I should not think 
of putting you under a vow to drink only 
water. I forgot when I first spoke that you 
are a man now.” 

She felt a conviction of his strength that 
she could not quite explain. It might have 
been in his more firmly- set figure and face, or 
in the determined tone of his voice, expressing 
so much purpose and resolve. 

“I am rising twenty-two,” he said, with a 
pleased laugh ; “and I became a man a year 
ago.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“ When I look back upon the naked past, 

In its hushed slumber like a sleeping snake, 

I shudder lest the weary coil should wake, 

And wound me with its subtle pain, and cast 
Its barbed stings in my face.” 

R. L. Binyon. 

For some weeks after the wedding Vera 
was restless and unable to work. She went 
back to her rooms at Oxford, feeling strange- 
ly reluctant to face solitude again, and 
vaguely dejected. There was no reason for 
dejection, as every fresh post brought her 
news of the enthusiasm with which “ Frac- 
tions ” was being received in all quarters. 
There were detractors naturally, who found 
flaws in her sentiment, faults in her grammar, 
and moonshine in her theories ; but the ma- 
jority of critics was well with her, and the 
reading public — deducting the penny patrons 
of the bookstalls — followed suit with alacrity. 

Not only this much, but more ; her scheme of 

( 229 ) 


230 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


a Woman’s Free College did not fall upon 
arid ground. It was taken up warmly im- 
mediately by a certain Lady Maudesley of 
benevolent proclivities and a decent fortune, 
who possessed also a perfect talent for beg- 
ging, and a marvellous system of witching 
money from hermetically-sealed pockets. 

This lady wrote to Vera a letter of fervid 
eulogy and congratulation, stating, at the 
same time, her willingness to place herself 
and her energies at Vera’s disposal, should 
she be prepared to attempt a realisation of 
the scheme she had so vividly imagined and 
graphically described in “ Fractions .” Oth- 
ers followed in her train, and soon the papers 
became dotted with little notices concerning 
the new effort to be made on behalf of the 
women of England. Vera had not time to do 
anything but answer the letters that flowed in 
upon her, many of them containing such ab- 
surd and impossible suggestions as to almost 
drive her mad through the necessity of an- 
swering them. Epithets piled themselves 
upon “ Fractions ,” till the young volume was 
buried under the weight of them. u Your 
splendidly imaginative work,” — “ Your ex- 
quisite word-painting and masterly imagery,” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


231 


— “Your impetuous force and earnest pur- 
pose,” — “Your magnificent conception for the 
amelioration of women,” etc., etc., were some 
of the panegyrics addressed to her, with varia- 
tions in the same key. They did not affect 
her much. After the verdict of the best crit- 
ics, that she had done good work, and with 
restraint and caution might do still better, she 
did not mind a great deal what the public 
might say one way or the other. 

And a listless exhaustion seemed to have 
come over her, now that the effort to create 
and fashion was relaxed. Every gushing let- 
ter she felt compelled to write wearied her, 
and had to be composed with difficulty. She 
was not the woman to conceive a great work 
and carry it through to consummation tri- 
umphantly. She had accomplished a big 
deed in imagination, and the long flight of 
fancy had tired her wings. So the weeks 
rolled by under a dull apathy of depression, 
and she looked ill and fagged. 

In the depth of low spirits she drew paper 
to her again and wrote a short story, which 
she sent to a high-class magazine. It was a 
wail of pain all through,— the cry of an un- 
wanted, uncared - for, unattractive woman, 


232 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


breaking her heart alone, full face to starva- 
tion. It was accepted, of course, and noticed 
in many quarters. Folk like their emotions 
tickled either to laughter or tears, and un- 
tempered mirth or woe in fiction is always 
safe to find readers. There was not a single 
note of gladness, or even comfort, throughout 
this short narrative ; consequently, it was ex- 
cessively enjoyed in cosy corners, under pleas- 
ant conditions, by tender-hearted fireside pes- 
simists and arm-chair socialists. 

It was fuel to the fire, and pounds rolled 
in to the fund of the Woman’s Free College 
all the faster on account of it ; so fast that it 
was necessary to form a committee at once, 
and put the whole scheme into working order. 

Lady Maudesley invited Yera to go to her 
house on a visit,' so that they could talk over 
and arrange affairs together. Yera accepted, 
although she anticipated being bored to death 
by the gushing philanthropism of her hostess. 
She was agreeably disappointed, however, and 
soon came to the conclusion that a long stay 
in a country-house, packed with interesting 
and sportive people, was just what her jaded 
mind required for a time. She regained tone 
rapidly, and astonished everybody to distrac- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


233 


tion by the volatility of her spirits and untir- 
ing appetite for fun. Most people expected 
to find a hollow-eyed denunciator of woman’s 
wrongs, foaming with indignation and pant- 
ing for redress. They found her a gay, ver- 
satile coquette, ready to dance or skate or 
drive, ride or shoot even, and capable of any 
amount of frivolity upon occasion. With 
Lady Maudesley alone she was always ear- 
nest, as indeed she was at heart, over the dear 
child of her fancy — the Woman’s College ; but 
there was no diversion going on in the house 
which had not Veronica Maitland for its par- 
tisan, if not ringleader. 

Thus her weeks slipped away until Christ- 
mas, when she went home, to find herself 
again amidst less congenial, if more affection- 
ate friends, and revolved into a moderate whirl 
of country middle-class dissipation. 

During her month in the country she read 
and wrote little, with the exception of letters, 
which shoaled in as before. Amongst these 
w T ere charming ones from Mr. Gerrould, her 
publisher and, as she called him, ‘‘guide, 
philosopher, and friend.” With him she dis- 
cussed everything under heaven, and over, 

setting a high value on his opinions, and con- 
16 


234 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


sequently shining brilliantly in her own part 
of the correspondence, responsive to his intel- 
lectual activity. She said to herself he was 
the one man who had ever understood her; 
and she was also unwary enough to express 
this in a letter to Sylvia, who j umped to fur- 
ther conclusions instantly. 

In February she went to London, taking 
rooms near Lady Maudesley’s town house, 
within a circle of Lady Maudesley’s friends. 
Here she received devotees, male and female ; 
and hither, amongst others, came Mr. Ger- 
rould, for many a long and exhaustive con- 
versation. Their friendship throve mightily, 
and heads were wagged by persons of gossip- 
ing proclivities ; but Yera chose not to see the 
wagging. 

Till one day, as he and she were talking 
over the Woman’s Free College, and Yera was 
stating her ardent desire that it should be 
called the Garrick Hall, or Maitland Hall, he 
asked her point-blank whether it were true 
that she had not been actually married to the 
man whose name she had assumed. 

When she answered, very haughtily, that 
the matter concerned herself alone, but that to 
satisfy his curiosity, she would own that she 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


235 


had no claim to the title, he apologised 
hastily ; and before she could recover her 
tranquillity, she found he was making her a 
proposal of marriage. 

Her first impulse was to reject him out- 
right, in such a manner as to leave no sediment 
of hope behind ; her second, that, as in him 
she would find a guide and incentive, it would 
be wise to temporise for the present, and hold 
him till her mind might become fast settled. 

She wavered, therefore, and in the end 
Gerrould went away tolerably well satisfied 
with her answer. 

That was in February. In April she re- 
adjusted her toilette and plunged into a 
maelstrom of society divertisement, whither 
her exceptional talent and success delivered 
her. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

. “ In my breast, 

Alas ! two souls have taken their abode, 

And each is struggling there for mastery ! 

One to the world, and the world’s sensual pleasures, 

Clings closely with scarce separable organs : 

The other struggles to redeem itself 
And rise from the entanglements of earth.” 

Goethe. 

It was under the protection of Lady 
Maudesley’s nndispnted chaperonage, that 
Vera was first presented to royalty, as the 
author of “ Fractions ,” and promoter of the 
Woman’s Free College. 

The event took place at the house of a very 
distinguished artist, at a private view on 
“ Show Sunday.” The studios, drawing- 
rooms, and staircase were packed with smart 
people, and Vera was feeling extremely cha- 
otic amidst the babble and flux, when she 
was rendered twenty times more so by an 
agitated communication from Lady Maudes- 
ley, to the effect that the Prince had arrived 

( 236 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


237 


unexpectedly, and had expressed a wish, over- 
heard by her, that Mrs. Maitland should be 
presented to him. 

When she had listened to some very pretty 
compliments, and made one or two inane ac- 
knowledgments of the same, Yera was re- 
lieved to find herself permitted to retire from 
the Presence, with an angry feeling at her 
core, that such an ordinary honour could over- 
turn and render her unnatural. Why could 
she not have been her own easy, confident self 
with the pleasant Personage, who was cer- 
tainly the last man in the world to suggest 
stiffness or restraint by his own manner ? 

Frightened by the brocaded ghost of 
etiquette behind him, and awed by the under- 
growths of centuries lying coiled up in a pas- 
sionate loyalty within her, she had been for 
the moment supremely influenced by the class 
from which she had sprung ; a class to which 
the court is a far-off unreality, and royalty a 
name for pomp and majesty. Now she felt 
hot and irritated against herself for not having 
been able to shake off mediaeval remnants and 
childish tradition more wholly, so ^as to have 
done justice to her powers of repartee and con- 
versation. 


238 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


She seated herself in a corner of the wide 
window-seat, and was soon crowded in by the 
people who came to get a word with or a look 
at her. She saw the Prince glance at her 
from time to time in an interested way, and 
thought to herself he was wondering how such 
a blushing fool could write so decent a book ! 

“Well, what do you think of Royalty 
asked Lord Maudesley, coming presently to 
look after her, and bringing a cup of tea, 
which he had practised some skill and diplo- 
macy in obtaining. 

“ He is very masculine,” she answered 
dreamily. 

Lord Maudesley looked at her with a puz- 
zled expression. 

“ Yes % ” he said ; you mean” — 

She laughed. 

“ Exactly ; that is just wdiat I mean. And 
besides, he is kindly, magnetic, easy-going, 
and fond of pleasure, so he will make us a 
splendid king some day.” 

“He is certainly all that you say ; but you 
know there are some puritans who shake their 
heads over him, and threaten revolution and a 
republic.” « 

“Absurd!” Vera showed three white 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


239 


teeth. “A monarch who does not interfere 
with the State, minds his own business, and 
scatters plenty of money broadcast, may live 
as he likes in this constitutional nineteenth 
century of ours, for aught the English nation 
cares ! It is distressing, but I fear it’s true. 
Read what half ” — 

She stopped suddenly, and her eyes di- 
lated, as she caught sight of a familiar face in 
the crowd, and beheld advancing towards her 
a well-straightened figure. Her heart seemed 
to stop for a second, as she recognised Fordyce 
Dalton ! The first time she had seen him 
since they had parted at the Ford Grants, 
nearly two years ago. 

“ You were saying ” — said Lord Maudes- 
ley. 

“How do you do, Miss Grace — Mrs. Mait- 
land 1 I hope you have not forgotten an old 
friend,” broke the well-known voice upon her 
ear, sending a painful arrow of memory 
through her consciousness, and Captain Dal- 
ton was holding out his hand. 

The dark eyes shot through hers a glance 
that seemed to numb all her faculties, as she 
mechanically laid her hand in the proffered 
one, and answered the greeting. In a flash, 


210 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


all the old sensations poured back upon her, 
and she felt the power of the man stronger 
than ever over her. She made an indifferent 
effort to maintain composure in introducing 
him to Lord Maudesley, but her tongue was 
absolutely paralysed, and she could not utter 
another word. 

He talked on quietly, drawing Lord Maudes- 
ley into conversation upon all the topics of 
the moment — the pictures, the Prince, and 
“ Fractions .” There never was any one more 
unruffled and composed than this cavalry offi- 
cer was now, in the presence of the woman 
to whom he was an objective conscience. It 
was part of his creed to be serene under all 
circumstances, and he lived up to it. 

“May I come and see you ?” he asked, by 
and by, when the other man had turned to 
speak to some one else. It was in a manner 
as if he were Vera’s oldest and most esteemed 
friend. 

She almost gasped. 

“No,” she answered directly. “Please 
don’t. I cannot — I am alone — I — do not want 
to see you again.” 

“You are very cruel;” he lowered his 
voice, in which he put absolutely no inflection ; 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


241 


“ but you cannot refuse to meet me, and I can 
find out where you are likely to be. I have 
never had a really happy moment since I saw 
you last. You may believe it or not.” 

“ I do believe it. How could you be 
happy? Do you deserve to be?” She spoke 
impetuously, meeting his eyes with defiance, 
only to abase hers before his daring gaze. 

He did not answer for a moment. 

“ Are you happy ? ” he said finally. “ You 
are such a social success, that I suppose you 
are ; but you must forgive me for saying 
that you look neither a happy nor a tranquil 
woman.” 

He had closed her in from all outsiders now 
by the curtain of the painted window, and she 
could not escape. 

“I am not unhappy,” she declared. “Al- 
though I ought to be, Grod knows ! Tranquil 
I was never, nor ever could be.” 

“You could,” he said, “ be both happy and 
tranquil, if you would let me prescribe for 
you.” 

She laughed, but not merrily. 

“Your prescription, my good physician, 
would not probably be worth its fee,” she said. 

“My remedy would be homoeopathic, 4 a 


242 


* DUST AND LAURELS. 


hair of the dog that bit yon.’” He smiled 
languidly. “Will you listen to it now, or 
shall I wait for a more fitting opportunity ? ” 

“Thanks, yes. I will not have it now. I 
want none of your remedies. I am not sure 
that I would care to be happy and tranquil 
either. Sorrow is the true fertiliser of thought, 
and restlessness generates deeds.” 

“Is that a quotation from 4 Fractions' ? I 
seem to recognise it. Is ‘ Vivian Heriot’ in- 
tended for me?” 

Vera blushed. The character in question 
had managed to grow somewhat like Dalton. 

“If you think so, I imagine you are not 
flattered!” she said. “I would advise you 
not to be trying on caps — you might regret it.” 

“ Oh, I know I am nothing but a knave and 
traitor in your eyes, so that no further opinion 
can hurt me much,” he said; “but, after all 
your criticism and your condemnation of me, 
you don’t hate me, and you are not indifferent 
to me. I know that.” 

She could not say a word to deny it. 

“Let me come and see you?” he asked 
again, with the same old brilliant smile, bend- 
ing over her as he spoke. 

She raised her eyes and looked full into 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


243 


his, feeling herself growing weaker as they 
met. She conld not say “No” again, and 
she would not say “Yes.” So the long look 
terminated in silence. 

Then she rose and put out her hand. 

“ I must go,” she said. 

He offered to accompany her, but she re- 
fused steadily. Once out of his presence, she 
felt she could think clearly. 

Is it to come all over again ? That was the 
problem she meditated upon during her drive 
home. Am I to fall under the spell again, and 
lose myself, the better self I have gained ? Is 
it to be without a struggle ? 

She went straight home and studied herself 
all the rest of the day and night, thinking 
again and again of her one true, healthy love 
for Garry ; of her regeneration, and of the 
power that had come to her through that 
love. 

Is an unholy influence to destroy all my 
efforts and defeat all my noblest aims? she 
reflected. Never! She went to sleep exhaust- 
ed with the mental struggle, and awoke in the 
morning to laugh at her fears, and defy dan- 
ger. 

In the daylight, romance and sentiment be- 


244 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


come strangely filmy. After all, what had the 
temptation been that she had fought against 
last night ? Positively a phantasm of her crea- 
tion, nothing more ! 

Two days later, Captain Dalton called upon 
her, but she was not alone. He did not stay 
long nor talk much, but he looked at her a 
great deal, and said something about seeing 
her later when he went. After that she 
scarcely went anywhere without meeting him, 
and he was so often at her side that the glances 
of the public followed them with smiles. Yet 
she was never alone with him till one day. 
She ran into him at Victoria, and he insisted 
upon taking her home thence in a hansom. 
She protested, but yielded, and soon they were 
bowling along in the twilight. 

He talked of casuals for some time, then at 
at last he said — 

“ When are you going to let me have your 
answer ? ” 

“ My answer ! ” she ejaculated. 

“Yes: the real answer to the question I 
have asked you over and over again, though 
not in so many words. You know that I have 
never changed ; that I love you as much as 
ever.” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


245 


“Love!” Yera laughed unsteadily. “I 
suppose you told your wife you loved her, did 
you not ? Please believe, Captain Dalton, that 
I am not rich, and that all the money I have 
goes to the College.” 

There was a pause. 

“ That is rather an uncalled-for insult, isn’t 
it ? ” he said unemotionally. 

She apologised. Never having believed in 
his love for her, she did not now ; but she was 
ashamed of her unmitigated rudeness, and 
added more civilly — 

“How could you love me ? I should think 
you must hate the sight of me ! ” 

“I don’t,” he replied. “ I’m frightfully in 
love with you. You have always interested 
me, and never bored me. Of course I don’t 
pretend to be better than other men, nor that I 
have never indulged in — flirtations — let us say. 
But with you it is different, and I promise you 
the feeling I have for you has never been 
shared by any one else.” 

“You were false to your wife, and you 
would be false to me ! ” cried Yera, at the same 
time annoyed with herself for stooping to dis- 
cuss with him. 

“ I was false to my wife because of you,” he 


246 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


said. “Are you to blame me for that f Any 
other woman would love me for it.” 

“Never believe it!” she burst out vehe- 
mently. “You deceive yourself! A woman 
could not love a man for such a reason as 
that.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Because ”— she could think of nothing 
further to say, except — “the gods only 
know what makes a woman love a man. I 
don’t.” 

“ Then accept my solution and be satisfied. 
Because I dared to show my feelings to you 
when a fainter-hearted man might have de- 
sisted on the score of virtue, you love me. 
You must ; for I will have you, Yera, whatever 
you say.” 

He possessed himself of her hand as he 
spoke. 

Her breath came very fast, and she felt 
almost suffocated in her efforts to free herself 
from the coil that was wringing out her 
strength. Tremors were running through her, 
and she was inexpressibly thankful when at 
that moment the cab stopped at her door. 

“ Good-bye,” she said, on the steps. “You 
cannot come in now; I am expecting some 


DUST AND LAURELS. 247 

friends this afternoon. Go away, please. 
Good-bye.” 

He lifted his hat and walked away with 
that peculiar tread proper to gamefowl and 
cavalry men, suggestive of spurs and swagger. 

Vera watched him get back into the cab 
again without the slightest variation of expres- 
sion on his strongly-cut, dissolute face ; and 
then, entering the house quickly, she shut the 
door behind her, and stood with her back 
against it, laughing strangely. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


“ The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill to- 
gether: our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped 
them not ; and our crimes would despair, if they were not 
cherished by our virtues.” — Shakespeare. 

There was no prettier morning room than 
Sylvia Gordon’s in all Oxford, and no more 
satisfied occupant than that little lady her- 
self, as she sat there one fine morning in May, 
reading studiously. She was much changed 
from the Sylvia who had loved her books so 
well when she was “in maiden meditation 
fancy free/’ for now she found all her will 
required to keep her attention on the pages 
before her. Every few minutes her glance 
wandered from the volume to the draped cur- 
tains before the alcove where the piano stood, 
or rested with a pleased smile of approbation 
on the new brass and iron lamp with its softly- 
coloured shade, delicately harmonising wfith 
the tints of the wall-paper. In short, not to 

( 348 ) 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


249 


put too fine a point upon it, Sylvia had de- 
veloped the most housewifely fondness for 
upholstery since her marriage, and her whole 
mind was continually occupied with ideas for 
the improvement of her rooms, and the con- 
cern that they should look indisputably 
charming. 

Noel was very much amused. He had 
been quite prepared to ground his wife in all 
the ’ologies of which he was master, had she 
cared to become his pupil ; but he was not at 
all sorry to see her making her home a study 
instead. Indeed he had quite enough pupils 
without her, and to come home to a dear little 
commonplace wife was vastly better for him 
than to be met with inky fingers and rueful 
frowns over the terrible five-barred problems 
of Euclid. They had been married now nearly 
a year, and he had -watched her settle into 
happy contentment with some relief, having 
felt, as acutely as a man could, the respon- 
sibility he had incurred in having taken her 
from a luxurious home, and from the pur- 
suit of learning on which she had seemed 
bent. 

She made a delightful wife ; interested in 
all the things he loved, and intelligent enough 
17 


250 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


to enter fully into all his intellectual pleas- 
ures. 

Indeed she still fancied that she thirsted 
for knowledge herself, being loath to confess 
that her own little nest of a house furnished 
her more food for meditation than all the 
speculations of philosophy ever crammed into 
books. But it is an accepted view of society 
that two very learned people in a house are 
almost sure to come upon a bone of contention 
sometimes in the course of their wanderings 
into the blue fields of ancient and modern 
culture, and perhaps accepted views are 
occasionally correct. The hypothesis that 
really intellectual persons control their pas- 
sions might be useful here ; but there are 
some practical individuals who want all hy- 
potheses illustrated by facts; which is awk- 
ward. 

At all events, the possible danger in the 
case of Mr. and Mrs. Gordon was averted by 
Sylvia’s new attitude. She still loved books, 
but for Noel’s sake ; her house she loved for 
its own. Is not this most natural and femi- 
nine ? 

The quaint little clock over the chimney- 
piece was pointing nearly to the luncheon 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


251 


hour, when a step on the polished oak floor of 
the hall caught Sylvia’s quick ear, and she 
raised her head, this time to gaze at the door, 
which was soon opened by Noel, carrying a 
bundle of papers. 

“Oh, letters!” exclaimed Sylvia, darting 
up from her seat, and flinging one arm round 
his neck for a due kiss. “Is there one for 
me, Noel \ Yes, I know there is, and from 
Yera ; I know by your smile.” 

She reached for the papers, which he held 
at arm’s length. 

“I believe,” he said, with mock serious- 
ness, “all these letters are for me; most of 
them University correspondence. Do you 
really expect a letter % Why, you had one 
yesterday.” 

“But not from Yera; she has not written 
for weeks, — not since she told me what Mr. 
Gerrould had said. I am sure something has 
happened.” 

“You are sure that Miss Yeronica Grace, 
otherwise Mrs. Maitland, has engaged herself 
to Mr. Gerrould. Is not that it, now ? ” 

“What if I have my suspicions? You 
first put them into my head by saying 
you were sure Yera would marry. Oh, 


252 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


don’t plague me, Noel ! I must have my 
letter ! ” 

He gave it to her, watching her face as she 
opened the bulky envelope, in which a good 
many large sheets of very close writing were 
packed. Presently a bright look danced over 
her face. 

“ I was right ; it is coming,” she said. She 
had read through the first sheet, and now at- 
tacked the next. 

“Might we have luncheon?” suggested 
Noel mildly. “ The letter will wait, won’t it ? 
And I am as hungry as a shark.” 

She stuffed the letter into her pocket 
mournfully, and went with him to the next 
room. 

“Hoes Yera say, then, that she is going to 
marry the literary man ? ” he asked, when a 
well- stocked plate before him began to show 
diminishing symptoms. 

“You wouldn’t let me finish, and I had 
only got to where she said she had some per- 
sonal news for me which she knew would as- 
tonish and perhaps shock me very much.” 

“Why shock you % You won’t be shocked, 
will you ? ” 

“ Of course ! ” promptly. “ Is it not shock- 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


253 


ing that another poor thing should be sacri- 
ficed on the altar of Hymen ? Ah, if she only 
knew! ” 

He laughed. 

“And what was the first page all about? ” 
he asked. “Circling round the main point, 
I suppose, and preparing you for the denoue- 
ment” 

“Yes. Poor Yera! she feels uncomfort- 
able about it, I know. She thinks I shall gibe 
at her for breaking her word, when she told 
me she would never marry. But, after all, I 
believe it will be for Yera’s good to marry such 
a man as Mr. Gerrould appears to be.” 

“ Don’t be too sure she is going to marry 
him,” said her husband. “ There is never any 
possibility of forestalling Miss — Mrs. Mait- 
land’s movements. Perhaps she is going into 
a nunnery.” 

“Yera turned Catholic would be funny,” 
said Sylvia. “I could better imagine her be- 
coming a Buddhist. Indeed, I think she has a 
tendency that way.” 

“ If she could only make up her mind to be 
something, perhaps she would be happier,” re- 
marked Gordon reflectively. 

“Now that is absurd, Noel!” Sylvia de- 


254 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


dared. “ Only yesterday you said how impos- 
sible it was to pin your colours to any particu- 
lar dogma, you know you did, when I wanted 
you to go to Christ Church with me, and you 
wanted an excuse to stay at home.” 

“ My dear, I am a man. A woman requires 
the girdle of a superstition as much as she re- 
quires corsets, possibly more. You see it’s a 
question of physique very often.” 

“ Oh, bosh! Men are much more evilly 
disposed than women, therefore they require 
more moral support. You can’t deny that” 

“I can’t deny you anything, my darling.” 

“ Then that disposes of the argument. I 
begin Whately, Jevon, and Mill to-morrow, 
Aristotle the next day — mind that. And now, 
may I read my letter, please % ” 

“ Certainly. Will you not read it aloud ? ” 
“I will read it myself first, and then tell 
you what she says,” said Sylvia in her most 
dignified manner. She read : 

“My darling Sylvia, — I am having a 
mighty fine time up here in town, and am in 
splendid health and spirits. I have so much 
to tell you that I hardly know where to begin, 
but perhaps I had better start on the W. F. C.” 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


255 


(Woman’s Free College), “ which is really and 
truly on the point of being built at last, I un- 
derstand. It will cost a great deal more money 
than I estimated at first, but help will continue 
to arrive, I feel sure, for such a good cause. 
The worst argument we have to fight is, that the 
class of sufferers is small compared to other 
wretched classes who require assistance. But 
my answer is, that there is money enough to 
help all, if we only go the right way to get at it. 
I calculate already that the W. F. C. has given 
employment to scores of people, especially post- 
men. I feel sure their number has had to be 
increased, from personal experience. And in 
the future, think of the occupation we shall 
secure for numbers of educated people ! There 
is always work for the skilled worker in every 
craft — even in teaching three-year-olds nursery 
rhymes. But I must not drivel on about my 
scheme, or I shall never be able to find room 
for the rest of my information. Did I tell you 
Mr. Gerrould said if I did not take care, I 
should become a prey to a diseased imag- 
ination ? He meant that I gave mine too 
much licence, and that it might at any time 
bulge into disorder. It is quite true, Sylvia 
dear. I do not discipline myself enough. 


256 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


I am so horribly weak still. Do you believe 
it is possible for one ever to overcome the 
Will — the carnal will of Schopenhauer, and 
the saints of old ? I am actually struggling to 
find out whether one’s character is made inside 
or outside one’s self, and whether, like the 
body, it is ripe at a certain age, and then no 
amount of striving can add an inch, or take 
off a corner. You know my story. I had a 
happy-go-lucky childhood and girlhood before 
my nut became kernelled (my skull-nut, you 
understand), then — But why should I drag 
you into metaphysical speculation, which I 
know you detest, when I have some personal 
news to tell you that I am afraid will astonish 
and perhaps shock you very much ? 

“ Sylvia, dear, I’m going to be married ! 

“I have struggled against it with all my 
might, but something is too strong for me, and 
I am afraid that something is inclination. You 
know, in my heart I w^ant to be true to Gar- 
ry, that he holds always a position none can 
usurp. But I am so restless, and I feel con- 
vinced nothing will ever fix me but marriage. 
Sometimes I think it was a providential thing 
Garry did not live to share the commonplaces 
of wedded life with me. I imagine myself 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


257 


finding out in him the little faults and failings 
so much harder to tolerate than larger errors, 
and falling into the horribly accustomed ways 
of conjugality with all the fire and light gone 
out, only the smoke of indifference or mere 
forbearance left. I imagine him getting tired 
of my exactions (a loving woman is always 
most exacting), my irritability, and my face — 
simply bearing my presence because lam his 
wife ; or, at the best of things, Joving me 
only from habit, and seeing all my flaws with 
naked eyes. I imagine all this, and then give 
a sigh of relief. That is one mood. In another 
I feel that nothing could have taken the poetry 
out of life with Garry, and that I should have 
become a grander woman by reason of my con- 
tinual effort to keep level with his ideal.” 

( u Oh, when is she coming to the point?” 
burst out Sylvia here, impatient of all this 
digression, which had not even the merit of 
freshness.) 

‘‘However, I might have failed in my effort 
to keep Garry a lover, and then my heart 
would have broken. Now, the man I have 
promised to marry could never break my heart, 
even with a crowbar. He will not disappoint 


258 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


me much, because I shall never make an idol 
of him. I am afraid you will be sorry when I 
tell you his name. 

“ It is Frank Thorold. I know you would 
rather it should be Mr. Gerrould ; but I 
couldn’t, Sylvia. Frank touches my fancy ; 
and I like the sensation his presence and his 
contact give me. I couldn’ t bear Mr. Gerrould 
to touch me. That is the whole top and bot- 
tom of it.” 

Here Sylvia could contain herself no longer. 

“O Noel, Noel ! What do you think ? O 
Yera ! you lunatic ! you cannot mean it ! Noel, 
she is going to marry Frank Thorold.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed her husband, and the 
two gazed at each other for a few minutes, then 
burst out laughing. 

“ What about the editor?” asked Gordon 
at length ; but she did not hear him. She was 
finding her place in the letter. 

“ You will say I am mad and a fool ” (Syl- 
via smiled at the truth of this), “but you must 
accept the fact, Sylvia, which I have long since 
ceased to blink, — that the material part of me 
is stronger than the spiritual. The blind will 
is utterly beyond my power of reason. This 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


259 


may be a heritage, or it may be training ; but 
whatever it is, it actually stares me in the face. 
In short, I’ve reverted. I very nearly once ac- 
cepted the pure elements of philosophy, and 
succeeded in subduing the lower self, to live in 
a sphere of rational delight, letting the surface 
things glide by as shadows. That was when I 
returned from Madeira, leaving dead Garry 
and all my temporal hopes behind. Bat it was 
not to last. The world came rushing back on 
me like an odious vampire, and its success first 
intoxicated and then sucked the soul out of me ; 
so that I am, as before, a sum of vain desires 
and crude sensations. The thing that settles 
down into wedded life with Frank Thorold will 
make a fairly good wife, I hope, living only 
for husband and home, but having no further 
connection with the enchanted regions of 
thought and fantasy. I don’t think I would 
have married yet, if it had not been for my 
meeting with Captain Dalton again, which, I 
think I told you, took place not long since. I 
did not tell you that I felt his old spell over 
me stronger than ever ; and that he wanted to 
marry me. Now you know I could not marry 
him. It would mean moral ruin to me to be 
wife to a man entirely void of principle. And 


260 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


I do mean to be good, if I can’t be transcen- 
dental. But I was afraid of him, Sylvia, des- 
perately afraid. You know the mysterious 
influence some men have over me, turning my 
theories and convictions and principles upside 
down. He is one of these, the most deadly ; 
and I dared not pit myself against him. He 
seemed to be everywhere I went ; and one day 
he met me at Victoria, and brought me home 
(I had been lunching with friends at Dulwich). 
It was then I knew that I was losing ground, 
and that all my strength was pliant in his 
hand. At home I found Frank waiting to see 
me. He saw I was agitated, and guessed the 
cause. Then he asked me for the right to pro- 
tect me against the other man, and the relief 
was so great I said “Yes, thanks” directly. 
Don’t laugh. He can protect me. He is very 
determined ; delightfully full of young sap, 
and most beautifully in love with me. I read 
him very true and obstinate, as a typical Eng- 
lishman should be ; and this is most necessary 
for a man who marries a woman nearly ten 
years older than himself. You, I know, think 
it madness for a woman to place herself in the 
power of a man who will still be young when 
she is getting old and weary, and losing her 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


261 


best appearance. Of course you are quite 
right in the abstract, but there are exceptions 
in the concrete. After we have been married a 
year, Frank will never see me at all. I know 
the sort of man. I am Ms ; therefore I must 
be all that is perfection, and he will only see 
his own choice in me, in which, being by na- 
ture proud and self-willed, he will never con- 
fess he could err. I shall be virtually his crea- 
tion, and he w T ill be satisfied with me as such. 
Believe me, the majority of Englishmen look 
upon their wives as accepted facts, and never 
dream of questioning them or comparing them 
with other women. Let their homes be happy, 
their food well -cooked, and their amusements 
not interfered with, they care very little whether 
the woman who is general caterer and compan- 
ion be pretty or ugly, so that she be fairly en- 
tertaining, interesting, and unfault-finding. 
At least this is my opinion, and to show I have 
the strength of it, I am going to back it by 
giving myself as an illustration for or against 
its veracity. 

“ We shall be married, I expect, as soon as 
Frank gets his commission, which I hope will 
not be just yet ; entre nous , I have a holy 
horror of the actual deed. I like the courting 


262 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


experience very much. It is delightful to be 
caressed and petted continually. If it were 
not for Garry’s ghost, now, I should be happy 
as a kitten, I believe (with no higher happi- 
ness, you observe) ; and the only way I have 
of exorcising that dear apparition is by con- 
vincing myself that Garry’s sweetheart died 
with him, and no longer resides in the confines 
of this untoward flesh. Do not think I am 
flippant, dear Sylvia; it is only that my 
thoughts about him lie in such painful depths, 
that if I stir them I must either laugh or cry 
passionately. I am grotesque by nature, and 
my Proteus-like qualities must come upper- 
most sometimes. 

“Write soon and tell me all about your 
dear self and your worser half. Much as I re- 
spect 'Noel Gordon, I cannot say your better 
half. In talking me over, remember that every 
one cannot have your good luck, to marry the 
man of your choice, and to have that choice 
in complete harmony with your highest 
reason. If I should have daughters, I will 
bring them all up after Mrs. Grant’s fashion, 
and pray they may inherit none of their 
mother’s essential features. Above all, I will 
choose their companions myself, and will 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


263 


never allow them too much waste time for 
dreaming romances. Now good-night, dar- 
ling. Write soon and congratulate me on 
having won a good boy’s love. That will be 
quite the correct thing to do, and I am sure 
Frank is a good boy : bless him ! He may 
not have more intellect than is positively 
necessary to get through a pass exam. ; but he 
has muscle, physical and moral. That is 
enough for me. Not more than others I de- 
serve. Exit Yera the unlimited — Enter Yera 
the limited and correct. I am going to be Mrs. 
Grundy’s pet in future. It is absurd to fancy 
oneself different from ordinary woman clay ; 
one only hurts oneself, and proves nothing. — 
Your loving and very ordinary friend, 

“Yeronica Maitland. 

“How I shall hate giving up the name! 
But I always thought I would like to marry 
a soldier, they are so pretty, and not hum- 
drum.” 

Sylvia put down the letter, and cried — 
yes, actually cried over it. Noel took it up, 
scanned it through, then put his hand on his 
wife’s shoulder. 


264 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


“What is there to cry over, you little 
goose ? ” he asked. “ She seems happy 
enough.” 

“ That is the end of Yera — the very end ! ” 
she declared impulsively. “ I know it by 
prophetic instinct. She will become a nobody 
— a mere wife, as I am ; thinking about noth- 
ing but wall-papers and dinners.” She 
laughed a little hysterically, seeing in the flash 
of a second her own condition of things, 
hitherto unsuspected. “ Oh yes ! it is all very 
well to say 4 Better so : ’ doubtless it is, in my 
case, but Yera ! with her magnificent capa- 
bilities, her glorious talents, to become a mere 
4 caterer ’ ” (the emphasis she threw on the 
quoted word was immense) “for a man she 
does not really love— it is monstrous, prepos- 
terous ! Is it not really shocking, Noel, to 
think of Yera married to a suit of red and 
gold and a sword, nothing more. He is not 
capable of appreciating her. Oh don’t talk to 
me ! I know Frank Thorold. Good — yes, but 
no mind at all ; not the shred of an idea in- 
side him.” She paused to breathe. 

44 Fortunately, dearest, you have not to 
marry him yourself,” said her husband con- 
solingly. 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


265 


Her answer was rather disconcerting. 

“I wish I could; then Yera would be 
rescued,” she said emphatically. 

“And may I ask what would become of 
me ? Would you resign me to Veronica ? ” 

“ She would not have you— disgustedly ; 
“you’re too intellectual for Yera, she prefers 
fools ; and, besides, you’re not good-looking 
enough.” 

“Thanks. Your flattery is most delicate ! ” 

“ I am in no mood for flattery.” 

“ Then the unpremeditated result is as- 
tonishingly successful. But be serious now, 
little Sylvia, or I shall begin to believe you 
love Yera better than me.” 

She looked at him very earnestly for a 
moment. 

“I don’t know about that,” she said, “but 
I believe if she had been a man I should never 
have married you.” 

“ Why \ ” he asked, slightly puzzled. 

“Because she would have broken my heart, 
and women always love best the men who hurt 
them the most.” 

“ Yes ; but they do not always marry 
them,” said Noel gravely. 

“I would only have married a man I loved 
18 


266 


DUST AND LAURELS. 


best,” avowed Sylvia, with her head high, and 
brown eyes burning. 

This her husband had no difficulty in be- 
lieving. There was nothing undecided about 
this small woman. 

“I think,” said Noel, “ to return to the 
subject of our discourse — you have always 
ignored one or two details in the character of 
your friend. She is pre-eminently a womanly 
woman, and she was bound to throw her fibres 
of affection round some one or something. 
Add to this some want of balance, and” — 

“Oh, don’t talk about it!” cried Sylvia 
impatiently. “ She had everything before 
her, and she has thrown her chance away. 
Frank will never satisfy her, and she will be 
restless as ever. She will do no more good 
work, but will settle down into a society wom- 
an, a mere conventional pattern plate. She 
will cease to take all interest in the W Oman’s 
Free College, and never write another line 
worthy of publication. Yes, I know perfectly 
well, Noel, what it will be. There is an end of 
Vera. You may argue as you like ; but I tell 
you— there is an end of Yera ! ” 


THE END. 


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100. His Life's Magnet. ' By Theodora Elmslie. 

101. Passing the Love of Women. By Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

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103. The Berkeleys and their Neighbors. By Molly Elliot Seawell. 

104. Mona Maclean , Medical Student. By Graham Travers. 

105. Mrs. Bligh. By Rhoda Broughton. 

106. A Stumble on the Threshold. By James Payn. 

107. Hanging Moss. By Paul Lindau. 

108. A Comedy of Elopement. By Christian Reid. 

109. In the Suntime of her Youth. By Beatrice Whitby. 

110. Stories in Black and White. By Thomas Hardy and Others. 

110J. An Englishman in Paris. Notes and Recollections. 

111. Commander Mendoza. By Juan Valera. 

112. Dr. Pauli's Theory. By Mrs. A. M. Diehl. 

113. Children of Destiny. By Molly Elliot Seawell. 

114. A Little Minx. By Ada Cambridge. 

115. Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon. By Hall Caine. 

116. The Voice of a Flower. By E. Gerard. 

117. Singularly Deluded. By Sarah Grand. 

118. Suspected. By Louisa Stratenus. 

119. Lucia , Hugh , and Another. By Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

120. The Tutor's Secret. By Victor Cherbuliez. 


APPLETONS’ TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY. — ( Continued.) 


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128. Diana Tempest. By Mary Cholmondeley. 

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131. A Gray Eye or So. By Frank Frankfort Moore. 

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133. A Marriage Ceremony. By Ada Cambridge. 

134. A Ward in Chancery. By Mrs. Alexander. 

135. Lot IS. By Dorothea Gerard. 

136. Our Manifold Nature. By Sar a h Grand. 

137. A Costly Freak. By Maxwell Gray. 

138. A Beginner. By Rhoda Broughton. 

139. A Yelloio Aster. By Mrs. Mannington Caffyn (“Iota”). 

140. The Rubicon. By E. F. Benson. 

141. The Trespasser. By Gilbert Parker. 

142. The Rich Miss Riddell. By Dorothea Gerard. 

143. Mary Fenwick's Daughter. By Beatrice Whitby. 

144. Red Diamonds. By Justin McCarthy. 

145. A Daughter of Music. By G. Colmore. 

146. Outlaw and Lawmaker. By Mrs. Campbell-Praed. 

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149. Vashti and Esther. 

150. Timor's Two Worlds. By M. Jokai. 

151. A Victim of Good Luck. By W. E. Norris. 

152. The Trail of the Sword. By Gilbert Parker. 

153. A Mild Barbarian. By Edgar Fawcett. 

154. The God in the Car. By Anthony Hope. 

155. Children of Circumstance. By Mrs. M. Caffyn (“ Iota”). 

156. At the Gate of Samaria. By William J. Locke. 

157. The Justification of Andrew Lebrun. By Frank Barrett. 

158. Dust and Laurels. By Mary L. Pendered. 

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GEORG EBERS’S ROMANCES. 

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A Thorny Path. (Per Aspera.) Translated by Clara Bell. 2 volumes. 

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A Question. Translated by Mary J. Safford. 1 volume. 

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HE AWAKENING OF MARY 

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IN THE SUN TIME OF HER YOUTH. 

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i2tno. 


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N THE LAKE OF LUCERNE , and other Stories. 

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HE MANXMAN. By Hall Caine, author of 

“The Deemster,” “ Capt’n Davy’s Honeymoon,” “ The Scape- 
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“ Within the last few years there have come to the front in England, as writers of 
fiction, Barrie, Stevenson, Crockett, Weyman, and Hall Caine — the last, if we may 
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“ The most powerful story that has been written in the present generation.” — 
Edinburgh Scotsman. 

“ It is difficult not to speak with what may seem indiscriminate praise of Mr. Hall 
Caine’s new work.” — London Daily News. 

“ The book, as a whole, is on a rare level of excellence — a level which we venture 
to predict will always be rare.” — London Chronicle. 

“ A story of marvelously dramatic intensity, and in its ethical meaning has a force 
comparable only to Hawthorne’s ‘ Scarlet Letter.’ ” — Boston Beacon. 

“We agree with those who hold ‘The Manxman’ to be the best of Mr. Hall 
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. . . Taken altogether, * The Manxman ’ can not fail to enhance Mr. Hall Caine’s 
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diate favor with the lovers of strong and pure romance.” — London Globe. 

“ The story that will absorb thousands of readers, and add rare laurels to the reputa- 
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A really great novel.” — Liverpool Post. 

“ A book the construction and execution of which very few living European novel- 
ists could excel. The fullness of the texture in this last novel, the brilliancy of the suc- 
cessive episodes, the gravity and intensity of the sentiment, the art with which the ever- 
deepening central tragedy is relieved by what is picturesque and what is comic — all 
this has only to be seriously considered to be highly appreciated. ‘The Manxman' 
is a contribution to literature, and the most fastidious critic would give in exchange 
for it a wilderness of that deciduous trash which our publishers call fiction.” — Edmund 
Gosse, in St. James’s Gazette. 

“ A work of rare merit and striking originality. . . . Indubitably the finest book 
that Mr. Hall Caine has yet produced. It is a noble contribution to the enrichment of 
English fiction and the advancement of its author’s fame.” — London Academy. 

“ It will be read and reread, and take its place in the literary inheritance of the 
English-speaking nations, like George Eliot’s great books.” — The Queen. 

“ ‘ The Manxman,’ we may say at once, confirms the author’s claim to rank 
among the first novelists of the day. . . . The story is constructed and worked out 
with consummate skill, and, though intensely tragic, it is lightened by some charming 
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closely studied and finely executed, and show a deep experience and knowledge of 
human nature, in its lighter as well as darker aspects, such as only a master hand 
could faithfully have drawn.” — London Literary IVorld. 

“In truth it is Mr. Caine’s masterpiece, and congratulations are pouring in upon 
him from right and left. . . . The story had only been issued a few hours when Mr. 
Gladstone wrote to the Isle of Man to express his admiration for the new success.”— 
London correspondence c f the New York Critic. 


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OUND THE RED LAMP. By A. Conan Doyle, 

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The “ Red Lamp ’’ the trade-mark, as it were, of the English country practitioner’s 
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made a most artistic use of the motives and springs of action revealed to him in a field 
of which he is the master. 

“ A volume of bright, clever sketches, ... an array of facts and fancies of medical 
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A 


FLASH OF SUMMER. By Mrs. W. K. Clif- 
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HE LL LAC SUN BO NNE T. A Love Story. 
By S. R. Crockett, author of “ The Stickit Minister,” “ The 
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AELCHO. 

of “ Grania,” “ 


By the Hon. Emily Lawless, author 

Hurrish,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


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UNIFORM WITH “THE MANXMAN .” 



HE DEEMSTER. A Romance of the Lsle of Man. 
By Hall Caine, author of “The Manxman,” “Capt’n Davy’s 
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A UL AND VIRGINIA. By Bernardin de Saint- 

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N ATTIC PHILOSOPHER IN PARIS; or , A 

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HE STOP Y OF COLETTE. 

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J - Pearson Woods, author of “ Metzerott, Shoemaker.” i2mo. 
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C APT'N DAVY'S HONEYMOON. A Manx 

Yarn. By Hall Caine, author of “The Deemster,” “The 
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FRIEND OF THE QUEEN. (Marie Antoinette 

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“ If the book had no more recommendation than the mere fact that Marie Antoinette 
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7 'HE ROMANCE OF AN EMPRESS. Catherine 
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“ The book makes the best of reading, because it is written without fear or favor. 

. . . The volume is exceedingly suggestive, and gives to the general reader a plain, 
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“ The perusal of such a book can not fail to add to that breadth of view which is 
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TIME 

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CHEQUES. By F. 

“ The Giant’s Robe,” etc. 


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ROM SHADOW TO SUNLIGHT. 

Marquis of Lorne. 


By the 


“In these days of princely criticism— that is to say, criticism of princes — it is re- 
freshing to meet a really good bit of aristocratic literary work.” — Chicago Tribune. 



DO P TING AN ABANDONED FARM. 

Kate Sanborn. 


By 


“ A sunny, pungent, humorous sketch.” — Chicago Times. 


N THE LAKE OF L UCERNE, and other Stories. 
By Beatrice Whitby, author of “ A Matter of Skill,” “ The 
Awakening of Mary Fenwick,” etc. 


“Six short stories carefully and conscientiously finished, and told with the graceful 
ease of the practiced raconteur.” — Literary Digest. 



R. FORTNER'S MARITAL CLAIMS, and 

other Stories . By Richard Malcolm Johnston. 


“ When the last stoiy is finished we feel, in imitation of Oliver Twist, like asking 
for more. ” — Public Opinion. 



RAMERCY PARK. A Story of New York. 

John Seymour Wood, author of “An Old Beau,” etc. 


By 


“ A realistic story of New York life, vividly drawn, full of brilliant sketches.” — Bos- 
ton Advertiser. 



TALE OF TWENTY-FLVE HOURS. 

Brander Matthews and George H. Jessop. 


By 


“ The reader finds himself in the midst of tragedy ; but it is tragedy ending in 
comedy. The story is exceptionally well told.” — Boston Traveller. 


A 


LITTLE NORSK ; or, OF Pafs Flaxen. By 

Hamlin Garland, author of “ Main Traveled Roads,” etc. 


“ There is nothing in story telling literature to excel the naturalness, pathos, hu- 
mor, and homelike interest with which the little heroine’s development is traced.”— 
Brooklyn Eagle. 


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Each, i2mo, flexible cloth, with special design, 75 cents. 

HE GREEN CARNATION. 

The “Decadent” of English society has never been so cleverly sketched, 
and his comments upon the literature and art of the day will be found as amusing 
as they are maliciously witty. We have had no recent fiction so thoroughly “ up to 
date.’ 



By 


A BANDONING AN ADOPTED FARM. 

Kate Sanborn, author of “Adopting an Abandoned Farm,” etc. 

As a promoter of good spirits, a contributor to the gayety of nations, Miss Kate 
Sanborn has gained a most enviable place among the writers of the day. 

RS. LIMB ERE RAFFLE j or , A Church Fair 

and its Victims. By William Allen Butler. 

This brilliant little satire, by the author of “ Nothing to Wear,” appears now under 
his name, in a revised and enlarged form. 

' IT HE PURPLE LIGHT OF LOVE. By Henry 

Goelet McVickar, author of “ A Precious Trio,” etc. 

“ A novel that holds the attention of the reader with its clever sketches of charac- 
ter.” — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 


M 


' jUHE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. By 

■L Gilbert Parker. 


“ Unique in plot and subject, and holds the interest from the first page to the last.” 
— Detroit Free Press. 


NHHE FAIENCE VIOLIN. By Champfleury. 

I “ The style is happy throughout, the humorous parts being well calculated 

to bring smiles, while we can hardly restrain our tears when the poor enthusiast 
goes to excesses that have a touch of pathos.” — Albany Times-Union. 

nr RUE RICHES. By Francois Coppee. 

JL “ Delicate as an apple blossom, with its limp cover of pale green and its 
stalk of golden-rod, is this little volume containing two stories by Frangois Cop- 
p£.e The tales are charmingly told, and their setting is an artistic delight.”— Philadel- 
phia Bulletin. 



TRUTHFUL WOMAN LN SOUTHERN 

CALIFORNIA. By Kate Sanborn. 


“ The veracious writer considers the pros of the ‘ glorious climate ’ of California, 
and then she gives the cons. . . . The book is sprightly and amiably entertaining. The 
descriptions have the true Sanborn touch of vitality and humor.” — Philadelphia Ledger. 



BORDER LEAN DER. By Howard Seely, 

author of “A Nymph of the West,” etc. 


“We confess to a great liking for the tale Mr. Seely tells . . . There are pecks of 
trouble ere the devoted lovers secure the tying of their love knot, and Mr. Seely de- 
scribes them all with a Texan flavor that is refreshing.”— N. Y. limes. 


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JOURNEY IN OTHER IVORIES. A Ro . 

mance of the Ftitnre. By John Jacob Astor. With 9 full- 
page Illustrations by Dan Beard. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


“An interesting and cleverly devised book. . . . No lack of imagination. . . . 
Shows a skillful and wide acquaintance with scientific facts.” — New York Herald. 

“The author speculates cleverly and daringly on the scientific advance of the earth, 
and he revels in the physical luxuriance of Jupiter; but he also lets his imagination 
travel through spiritual realms, and evidently delights in mystic speculation quite as 
much as in scientific investigation. If he is a follower of Jules Verne, he has not forgot- 
ten also to study the philosophers.” — New York Tribu?ie. 

“ A beautiful example of typographical art and the bookmaker’s skill. . . . To 
appreciate the story one must read it.” — New York Commercial A dvertiser. 

“The date of the events narrated in this book is supposed to be 2000 a. d. The 
inhabitants of North America have increased mightily in numbers and power and 
knowledge. It is an age of marvelous scientific attainments. Flying machines have 
long been in common use, and finally a new power is discovered called ‘apergy,’ 
the reverse of gravitation, by which people are able to fly off into space in any direc- 
tion, and at what speed they please.” — New York Sun. 


“ The scientific romance by John Jacob Astor is more than likely to secure a dis- 
tinct popular success, and achiev^ widespread vogue both as an amusing and interest- 
esting story, and a thoughtful endeavor to prophesy some of the triumphs which science 
is destined to win by the year 2000. The book has been written with a purpose, and 
that a higher one than the mere spinning of a highly imaginative yarn. Mr. Astor has 
been engaged upon the book for over two years, and has brought to bear upon it a 
great deal of hard work in the way of scientific research, of which he has been very fond 
ever since he entered Harvard. It is admirably illustrated by Dan Beard.” — Mail and 
Express. 

“ Mr. Astor has himself almost all the qualities imaginable for making the science of 
astronomy popular. He knows the learned maps of the astrologers. He knows the 
work of Copernicus. He has made calculations and observations. He is enthusiastic, 
and the spectacular does not frighten him.” — New York Times. 

“The work will remind the reader very much of Jules Verne in its general plan of 
using scientific facts and speculation as a skeleton on which to hang the romantic 
adventures of the central figures, who have all the daring ingenuity and luck cf Mr. 
Verne’s heroes. Mr. Astor uses history to point out what in his opinion science may 
be expected to accomplish. It is a romance with a purpose.” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

“ The romance contains many new and striking developments of the possibilities 
of science hereafter to be explored, but the volume is intensely interesting, both as a 
product of imagination and an illustration of the ingenious and original application of 
science.” — Rochester Herald. 


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ppletons’ Town and Conntry Library. 

o. 157. The Justification of Andrew Lebrun. 

A Novel. By Frank Barrett, author of “ The Great Hesper,” 
“His Helpmate," “A Recoiling Vengeance,” etc. i2mo. Paper, 
50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

“ Readable and interesting to the end.” — London Daily News. 

“Will amuse and entertain.’’ — London Athenceam. 

“ One of the books which can with difficulty be laid aside until the last page is 
iched.” — London Globe. 

o. 156. At the Gate of Samaria. 

A Novel. By William John Locke. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; 
cloth, $1.00. 

Against a background of artist life in London and Continental journeys the 
thor has placed the figure of a young girl, intense and ambitious, whose aspira- 
ns and courtships form the main thread of the story. The contrasting types of 
;n who are placed beside her are drawn with equal power, and the author’s 
ength of expression increases as his tale moves on. There is never a question of 
gging interest. 

o. 155. Children of Circumstance. 

A Novel. By Iota, author of “A Yellow Aster.” i 2 mo. Paper, 
50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

In this strong work the author offers a striking study of the womanhood of 
■day. Her book does not represent “ advanced” opinion, but it is rather an 
rnest attempt to point out the true sources of woman’s strength. 

o. 154. The God in the Car. 

A Novel. By Anthony Hope, author of “ The Prisoner of Zenda,” 
etc. i2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

This is the first novel that the author has written since “ The Prisoner of Zenda.” 
is a story of the times, fresh in motive, subtle in its portrayal of character, and 
amatic in its effects. “ The God in the Car ” will enlarge the circle of this popular 
welist’s readers. 

o. 153. A Mild Barbarian. 

By Edgar Fawcett, author of “An Ambitious Woman,” “The 
House at High Bridge,” etc. i 2 mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 

In the opinion of competent observers, Mr. Fawcett has done nothing better than 
A Mild Barbarian.” Much of the scene is laid in New York, which the author 
lows so well, and the unusual type represented in his hero is drawn with a fresh- 
es and vividness which will stir the interest of even blase novel readers. 


For sale by all booksellers ; or will be sent by mail on receipt 0/ price by the publishers. 

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, « ■ - * •: V ' 


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Round the Red Lamp. 

Bv A. Conan Doyle. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

The “ Red Lamp,” the trade-mark, as it were, of the English country surge 
office, is the central point of these dramatic stories of professional life. There 
no secrets for the surgeon, and, a surgeon himself as well as a novelist, the au 
has made a most artistic use of the motives and springs of action revealed to hii 
a field of which he is the master. 

Maelcho. 

By the Hon. Emily Lawless, author of “Crania/’ “ Hurrish,” 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

Nothing that we have had from this successful author has been so graj 
spirited, and rapid in movement as this brilliant historical romance of Irelan 
the sixteenth century. It is a story of action and incident, of desperate vent 
and flashing swords, and the spirit and power of the romance are felt on every p 

The Lilac Sunbonnet. 

A Love Story. By S. R. Crockett, author of “ The Sti 
Minister.” “ The Raiders,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

In this charming idyl the author adds a rare grace and delicacy to the qual 
of sustained interest and dramatic narration which he has shown before. Th 
his first long novel since “ The Raiders,” and in the opinion of competent obser 
it represents his finest work. 

A Flash of Summer. 

By Mrs. W. K. Clifford, author of “ Love Letters of a Wor 
Woman,” “ Aunt Anne,” etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 

The mere announcement of a new novel by the author of “ Love Letters < 
Worldly Woman” will attract those who seek the most brilliant contempora’r) 
tion. The new novel will be certain to add to the author’s reputation. 

The Green Carnation. 

i2mo. Buckram, 75 cents. 

This brilliant little satire upon the London Runthorne of the day will be 
with keen delight. The “ Decadent ” of English society has never been so cle\ 
sketched, and his comments upon the literature and art of the day will be foun 
amusing as they are maliciously witty. We have had no recent fiction so thorou 
‘‘up to date.” 

The Deemster. 

By Hall Caine, author of “ The Manxman,” “ Capt’n Davy’s Ho: 
moon,” etc. New edition. i2mo. Cloth, S1.50. 

It was this magnificent romance of the Isle of Man which launched the au 
upon his brilliant career, and the remarkable public appreciation of “The Mi 
man ” insures a welcome for a new edition of a book which is in a sense a c 
panion volume. 

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